


M*A*S*H: Mobile Army Surgical Hospital

by myglassesaredirty



Category: MASH (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 256???? that is Too Many my dude, AU, BUT I AM GOING TO FINISH THIS OKAY, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Tony Stark, Gen, Historical AU, Korean War, MASH needs to cool it with the amount of episodes it has like DAMN, Skinny Steve, Why do I do this to myself, besides who would i use for him? rhodey? naw man he already has a role, blame my add, give everyone a hug, go watch the show if you want to see how everything ends up working out, guys i'll be 58 and married by the time this fic is finished if i do ALL the eps, i can't do this, i just keep bouncing around fandoms don’t blame me, i like sidney i'm keeping sidney, i might come back to this fic! i might, i probably will not finish this, i'm cutting out like half the series, i'm going to have to sell my soul for this fic, it's just going to be a Long While, mash au, more characters may be added, nicknames are weird, oh!, okay I lied, repeat after me: we do NOT ship the asexual celibate priest with anyone in the camp, some character death but it’s all eventual, tony is hawkeye and hawkeye is actually trapper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-03-13 18:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13576734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myglassesaredirty/pseuds/myglassesaredirty
Summary: He’s drafted as a doctor behind front lines during the very thick of the Korean War. His main prerogative is to make sure young boys get to go home and live to see their 19th birthday. His side or theirs, it doesn’t matter.That doesn’t prepare him to meet a boy who barely looks fourteen, who serves alongside all of them, who is prepared to die with them if it comes to it.So what does he do? He makes the best out of a dark situation.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I want to say that this will be INCREDIBLY LONG. I know I said that I would finish SI to PI, but I’ve hit a block for that, so it’ll be a while.
> 
> Secondly, this is based entirely off of the TV show M*A*S*H. This means that my MCU equivalent for Klinger will be dressing as a woman for the purpose of a section 8. Understand this: this fic will not be entirely politically correct. I will write this accurately to the show.
> 
> Lastly, I’m going to include word count at the beginning of each chapter because I know that you might need to block out time depending on the length. This prologue is 2290 words.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

They come for him in the middle of surgery.

He’s hands deep in the chest of a forty-five year old man with coronary heart disease. He glances up at one of the nurses, sticks out his hand, and says, “Clamp.”

By the time his shift is over, the military personnel have been waiting for three hours. When he walks out of the operating room, they stand upright and follow him down the hall, even as he waves them away.

“Dr. Stark,” one of them finally says.

“That’s me.” One of the nurses passes him in the hallway, and he winks at her.

“You have yet to report to your appointed location for your induction, sir.”

Tony turns around, walking backwards towards the doors. “Listen, Thing 1 and Thing 2: I’m a doctor. I’m not a soldier. My job is to save lives, not to take them.”

The first one to address him squares his soldiers. “You need to come with us. Sir.”

He smiles tightly. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather not be pulling shrapnel out of a kid’s chest.”

The other one extends his hand, holding a slip of paper out to him. “I would read this before you consider anything else, Dr. Stark.”

Tony huffs and reads the notice. He curses and crumples it in his hand. “Really? If I don’t run off and join your boyband, you’re going to _strip me_ of my _medical license_?”

The second MP nods. “That is the case, Dr. Stark. You can come with us, or you can kiss your life goodbye.”

He rolls his eyes and opens the door. Gesturing with his free hand, he says, “Lead the way, gentlemen.”

\---

It’s hotter than he would have expected when they arrive at the 4077 M*A*S*H. A boy who can’t be any older than eighteen (though, really, he looks eleven) shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits for the Army Jeep to come rolling to a stop. The boy pushes a hand through his hair before he shuffles to the side of the vehicle.

“Hello, Captain Stark. Um, if you’ll come with me, I can take your bags.”

Tony steps out of the Jeep and regards the kid. “How old are you, kid?”

He looks up at Tony and sniffles, pulling one of Tony’s bags out of the Jeep. “Eighteen, sir. Why do you ask?”

“You look twelve. On a good day.”

The kid tries to smile. “This way, sir,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the tents. The wind picks up, and one of Tony’s boots scuffs against a pebble.

“What is your name, kid?”

The kid looks over his shoulder, clearly struggling with Tony’s bags. “I-I’m Peter Parker, sir. But, uh, Colonel Quill calls me Radar, if you want.”

Tony nods, not realizing that the tent that Peter has stopped in front of are his new quarters. He bumps into the kid, and Peter stumbles a little. Tony reaches out to keep him from falling. “Sorry about that, Peter.”

Peter nods at him, and Tony opens the door for him and follows him into the tent. A man lounges on his bed, barely looking up when Tony stands, awkwardly looking around the sparse home. Peter drops his bag by the bed nearest to the door. “Um, sir, that’s Captain Clint Barton. Colonel Quill is in surgery right now, but when he gets out, I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Tony smiles at Peter. “Thanks, Peter. And cut the ‘sir’ crap. I don’t care for Army protocol.”

Clint scribbles something onto the crossword puzzle he has. “No one calls him Peter. It’s just Radar.”

Tony looks between Peter and Clint before deciding to focus on Peter. “This true?”

Peter flounders like a fish out of water. “I-I…it’s – I…I mean…”

Tony turns to Clint. “Why doesn’t anyone call this kid Peter?”

Clint looks up, lazily twirling the pencil in his hand. “The colonel’s name is also Peter. And besides, Radar can hear choppers before they come. Hence the nickname.”

Peter looks down. “Do you got a nickname, Dr. Stark?”

Tony looks over his shoulder, not overlooking how young Peter seems at the moment. “Hawkeye, actually. My dad’s friend started calling me that, and it just stuck.”

Clint squints at him. “Well, we can’t have two Hawkeyes in the same camp.”

“Good thing you’re not actually Hawkeye,” Peter mumbles under his breath.

It’s loud enough that Tony catches it. “What?”

Peter looks up, his eyes wide. “I-I just mean that…well, Captain Barton has two nicknames in this camp, but since you’re Hawkeye, maybe he can just be…maybe he can just be Trapper.”

Tony holds up a hand, and Peter clamps his mouth shut. “How about we call each other by our own names? I’ll call you Radar if you want, but for now, why don’t you just call me Tony?”

Peter nods. As he turns to leave, the door flies open, and Peter stumbles backwards, running into Tony. A man stands in the entryway, eyes narrowed at the boy standing before him. Peter lifts his hand to salute.

“Corporal Parker, what are you doing in here?”

“Uh…um…Major-Major Hogan, I was just helping Captain Stark to his new quarters.” Peter points to the bed by which Tony’s bag rests.

Major Hogan looks between Peter and Tony. “Why didn’t you come to fetch me then, Corporal?”

Peter gulps. “I – you were in surgery, and I didn’t think I should interrupt just in case it was a difficult case, I’m sorry, sir –”

“Well, sorry doesn’t cut it.”

When Tony sees Peter visibly deflate, he puts his hands on his shoulders. “Major Hogan, it’s fine. I was just asking him about the camp.”

Major Hogan decides to leave Peter alone for now. “And who are you?”

Tony rolls his eyes and extends his hand. “Tony Stark. You?”

Hogan squints at Tony’s proffered hand and ignores it. “I would advise you to use your rank when introducing yourself, _Captain_.”

Tony rolls his eyes again. “Oh, forgive me, Major Hogan. Now, please, answer me: what is your name?”

Hogan straightens and squares his shoulders. “Harold Hogan. _Major_ Harold Hogan.”

“Nice to meet you, Harold.”

Peter snickers.

“And just what are you laughing at, Corporal Parker?” Harold asks.

Peter ducks his head and shuffles out of the tent. “Nothing, sir. I’m going to go find Colonel Quill, sir.” The door swings open, and the rusty hinges creak as it closes.

Clint stands up, walks over to some weird contraption, grabs a martini glass, and fills it. “Want some gin?”

Tony shakes his head. “Not right now, thanks.”

“Happy?”

Harold’s eyes widen. “How _dare_ you address me in such a – in such an _informal_ way, Captain! I am your superior officer!”

Clint stares at him, hand poised to fill another glass. “Is that a yes or no? I can’t tell.”

Happy points at Clint. “That is against regulation!”

Clint shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “I’m still not getting a clear answer from you.”

“No!”

Clint shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Before Happy can go off on the “lack of regulation,” the door swings open again, and a man wearing white scrubs ducks through the doorway. Peter – Radar, whatever his name is – follows him inside, and the door presses into his back when it closes.

“You must be Captain Stark,” the new face says, offering his hand to shake, “I’m Colonel Peter Quill.”

Tony shakes his hand. “Do we call the kid Peter, or is that just for you?”

Quill laughs and shakes his head, scratching his left arm. “Either/or. I’m fine if you call me Quill, or if you call me Peter. But if you call him Radar, it avoids some confusion.”

Tony nods. “Thank you, Quill.”

Happy scoffs and storms out the door, and Peter scrambles to get away from him, but in the process, he trips over himself and falls onto Tony’s bed.

Clint raises his glass in a toast. “Don’t let him scare you, Radar.”

Peter laughs nervously. “I-I try not to, sir.”

\---

They say the first shift is always the worst. A doctor goes from normal medicine – civilian practice, if you will – to quick surgeries and hasty cleanups. There’s always metal in soldiers’ chests, in their shoulders, sides, legs, anywhere that has any flesh. They have wounds that can likely be fatal, and they all come in facing death with almost no chance of seeing their next birthday. Soldiers wake up missing a leg or an arm, and then they have to face the reality that they will never be truly whole again.

It’s tough on him.

“Nurse, close for me.” Tony pivots, taking his gloves off as he turns for the next patient. It’s another chest wound, but this kid… he can’t be any older than sixteen. He looks almost as young as Peter.

Tony shakes the thought from his mind and gets to work.

It’s a long day and a long shift. Just as the stress is starting to get to him, Quill breaks the silence.

“What do you call a mix between a beaver and a rabbit?” There’s a grunt of exertion as he carefully grips a piece of shrapnel with forceps, and it clinks into the little bowl the nurse holds out to him. “A hoppy woodcutter.”

Tony shakes his head, smiling behind the mask. “No, no, Quill, the answer is a _dam_ happy woodcutter.”

Happy looks up from his patient. “Will you cut the racket in here? Some people are trying to concentrate!”

“Oh, we must not forget: Happy isn’t actually a doctor, he’s just an imposter. It’s quite difficult for someone to be working in this environment, Happy. You should take the rest of the war off.” Clint looks to his nurse. “Suture.”

“How dare you! I am a perfectly qualified surgeon!”

“Happy,” Tony says in a sing-song voice, “why don’t you show us instead of tell us? Actions speak louder than words.”

“Sir?”

Tony’s never going to be used to a voice that young being in a place like this. He glances over his shoulder to see Peter approaching Peter.

“Sir, General Clayton is on the line. He’s asking for you.” Peter looks out of place with a surgical mask and Army fatigues. He wears a hat that covers his ears, and he looks a little older than he did when Tony first arrived.

“Not now, Radar. Can you tell him I’m in the middle of surgery?”

Peter shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I did, sir, but he demands to speak with you.”

Quill sighs heavily. “On a scale of one to ten, how important is it, Radar?”

“Very, sir.”

Quill sighs again. “Stark? You almost done over there?”

Tony nods. “Nurse, close for me.” He removes his gloves, letting a nurse – he can’t remember her name at the moment, but he knows she has a thing with Happy – slide a new pair onto his hands. “I’ve got it, Quill, you can go take that call.”

Quill leaves the operating room, Peter Parker following closely behind.

\---

It’s a lot of late shifts, a lot of quick surgeries, a lot of shrapnel, and a lot of deflecting the obvious. There’s a lot of joke-making, and Tony meets Corporal Sam Wilson, who hates the army so passionately that he’s read through every protocol and has decided to get a section 8 – discharge on the basis of insanity.

Tony finally learns the name of the woman who has a fling with Happy, and her name is Virginia Potts, but everyone just calls her Pepper. She’s also a stickler for Army regulation, but she’s more adequate than Happy is.

But what gets him the most is the fact that Peter Parker sleeps with a teddy bear.

He doesn’t mean to discover it, really, he doesn’t. He get off late from surgery, and when he leaves, he finds Peter passed out on his bed, a brown teddy bear clutched tightly in his arms. He looks so young, and maybe it wasn’t the first time that Tony hates the war, but it certainly is the most passionately.

Peter Parker is just a child.

As Tony stands there, eyes looking but not quite seeing, Peter tenses up and trembles in his sleep. He begins to mumble incoherently, but Tony knows enough to kneel by his bedside and shake him from his dream.

Peter jerks awake, looking to Tony with wide eyes. “What – there’s nothing going on. You should get some sleep, Tony.”

Tony tries to smile for the sake of the kid, really, he does, but he just can’t do it. “What were you dreaming about?”

Peter visibly deflates and clutches the bear tighter to his chest. “Nothing. Just – sometimes we get shellfire. It’s not that bad, I just remember it some nights, is all.”

Not that bad, his ass.

Tony just nods and pats Peter’s knee. “What’s his name?” he asks, nodding to the bear.

Peter furrows his eyebrows and follows Tony’s line of eyesight. “Oh. It’s…it’s just a teddy bear, sir, it doesn’t have a name.”

“Cut the bull.” Tony actually smiles this time. “What’s his name?”

Peter looks down, clearly embarrassed. “Teddy,” he mumbles.

It’s greater than Tony could have ever imagined. “Teddy, eh?”

“I know, I know.”

Tony nods. “I swear, if you get rid of that bear, I’m going to get rid of the thing that makes you a man. I need something to make fun of you for.”

Peter glares at him.

“Get to sleep, kid.” He stands and leaves, blowing hot air into his hands as he crosses the cold night.

It’s been the longest week of his life.


	2. To Market, To Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The black market hijacks many of the medical supplies that the 4077th needs. Fortunately, Clint and Tony aren't above making a deal.
> 
> But Happy is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long! Oh my goodness, it has been so long, and that is partially my fault. I thought this wouldn't be so long, but it is, and again, I apologize. I have decided that I'm going to do my normal habit of writing the chapters whenever I feel inspiration, which will result in sporadic posts.
> 
> Again, this fic will be incredibly long, and there will be a lot of things that might unsettle people. Again, it's because I'm trying to stay true to the show.
> 
> Now, I love Happy, don't get me wrong, but I will be trying to write him as unlikable in this fic, since he is based on Frank Burns.
> 
> In this fic, Tony will not be particularly rich. It's a key plot point at times for the main character in the show, and besides, I really like writing Tony in this way.
> 
> And, yes, I'm going to use Peter [Parker] and Radar interchangeably because Radar is a perfect nickname for Peter Benjamin Parker and the MCU should really pick up on that.
> 
> Word count, based on my Google doc: 6,782 words

The first thing he really discovered about the 4077th is that Peter Parker practically runs the camp. He’s the very backbone of the entire place, making sure everything’s in order.

 

The second thing Tony discovered was the war is a whole lot more cruel than he originally thought. Some nights, he walks through the camp, and he can hear some of the personnel crying. A couple of times, when they can’t save a patient, he sees Peter wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand before he helps assist Sam in taking the body from OR.

 

Third was that there is literally nothing to do. He can only hit on so many nurses. He can only play so many card games, and he can only play so many pranks on Happy and Pepper. He writes Jarvis every day, but letters take time to come back to Korea. So in between shifts, when he knows the chances of being called down to operate are slim, he drinks.

 

Really, it’s to help him forget the sight of teenagers barely old enough to shave lying on an operating table with their chests drenched in blood, the fact that he has to cut them open so he can try and let them live another day. He tries to forget the one time someone had a severe reaction to penicillin, and he remembers that almost paralyzing fear, remembers having to scream for Pepper to assist him. He hasn’t forgotten the way her hands shook. He hasn’t forgotten how his did, either.

 

He wakes up to Peter gently shaking his shoulder. “Tony? The colonel needs you in OR.”

 

He glares at the kid. “I just got  _ out _ of twelve hours of surgery! Tell him to cut me a break!” With that, he pulls the covers over his head, only for Peter to pull them back again.

 

“I know, sir, but he needs help, and it’s either you or Happy.”

 

Tony glares at the opposite end of the tent before he throws off the blankets. “Alright, fine, you win. But I want a pay raise.”

 

“I’ll make a request, sir,” Peter says, waiting for Tony to lead the way out of the tent.

 

“How kind of you.”

 

Tony scrubs up and makes his way over to Quill’s table. “What do we have here, Quill?”

 

“Shrapnel. There’s a lot of it around his lungs. Too much blood loss and he could die.”

 

Tony nods. “Right. Nurse, suction.” As he begins to operate, he can see Quill’s concern. “Jesus, this kid has more metal in him than a junkyard.”

 

Quill nods. “Yeah. He can’t be any older than nineteen.”

 

“Nineteen? Where are you getting nineteen? He barely looks old enough to drive.”

 

“He doesn’t look any younger than Radar.”

 

Behind his mask, Tony smiles. “Don’t tell  _ him _ that.”

 

Quill shrugs. “He probably heard me, anyways.”

 

\---

 

The sun is a welcome contrast to the burnt lights in the OR. Tony reaches up and pulls off his scrub cap, slowing his pace when he hears Peter calling after him.

 

“Sir! Sir,” Peter pants, slowing to a walk when he’s close enough. He extends his hand, holding a couple of letters. “Mail call.”

 

Tony takes the letters from him and looks at the sender. Jarvis sent him a letter, and his magazine subscription sent him a notice that probably alerted him to a cancelled subscription or something or other. Tony looks up and regards Peter, who’s still sifting through the other letters. “Do you ever get any mail, kid?”

 

Peter looks up, and Tony sees the way the Army uniform hangs on him, loose and uncomfortable, but nothing else fits this scrawny eighteen-year-old. Peter straightens, lifts his chin, and says, “Sometimes I get letters from home. Why?”

 

Tony smiles at him. “Just wondering.”

 

Peter turns his head when the doors to post-op open and Clint walks through. He smiles, extends his hand, and says, “You have mail from your wife, sir.”

 

Clint smiles at him. “Thank you, Radar.”

 

“Why does everyone call him Radar?”

 

Peter just smiles and takes off after Major Hogan. “Sir! Mail call!”

 

Tony looks to Clint, shaking his head. “I had no idea you were married.”

 

Clint looks down at the letter in his hand and smiles. “It’s a well-kept secret.” He opens the flap of the envelope and pulls out a little picture that was placed inside. He points to it and passes the picture to Tony. “That’s my wife and daughter.”

 

Tony takes the picture. It’s not often when he suddenly feels a sense of not having what might be rightfully his, but it’s when he looks at the picture of Clint’s family that he feels like he was cheated out of this, cheated out of a life with a wife and kids and a practice back home. He smiles down at the picture and passes it back to Clint. “She’s cute.”

 

Clint tucks the picture back into the envelope. “Who? My wife or my daughter?”

 

Tony shrugs. “Both.”

 

Clint rolls his eyes. “Hey, did you know Happy’s married?”

 

Tony looks up and turns his head to see Happy yelling at Peter. “Who would do that to themselves?”

 

“My guess is money.”

 

Tony furrows his eyebrows. “What, is he getting a dollar every time he commits malpractice?”

 

Clint snorts. “I’m gonna make you a drink just for that comment alone.” He opens the door to their tent, lovingly nicknamed “The Swamp” (hey, you can’t fault them for their accuracy), and waits for Tony to duck through.

 

Tony rubs his hands together. “So, what are we having? Martini? Gin? I need to prepare my taste buds.”

 

Clint raises his eyebrows. “It’s a surprise.”

 

While he busies himself making the drinks, Tony flops onto his cot and opens the letter from Jarvis. There isn’t much to it – he asks why Tony hates the war so passionately, wonders if he’s made any friends yet. It sounds like Aunt Peggy is getting more and more upset with Howard, and at one point, it seems as if she took the pen away from Jarvis and started reminding Tony to behave and “remember your training.” In the following paragraph, Jarvis apologizes for the interruption and continues on with life.

 

“Is that your dad?”

 

Tony looks up and takes the drink Clint offers him. “Who?”

 

“Jarvis. The envelope has his name on it.”

 

Tony laughs. “Oh, uh, no. Jarvis is my parents’ best friend and my honorary uncle.”

 

Clint nods. “Hm.” He takes a sip of the martini in his hand. “Ah. Delicious.”

 

Tony raises his glass in a toast. “Thank you.”

 

\---

 

“Sirs?”

 

Tony runs his thumb over his bottom lip, glancing from his cards to the table in front of him. “No need to be formal, Peter, it’s only us.”

 

“Sirs, may I come in?”

 

Tony waves his free hand for Peter to come in, and the door creaks open.

 

“Is there something you need help with, Radar?” Clint looks up from the letter he’s writing. “We don’t know how to do height implants yet, kid.”

 

Peter glares (or tries to, for that matter) at Clint. “That’s not funny,” he says through gritted teeth. He settles back on Tony’s cot, and Tony smiles to himself. “I – I was just wondering, sirs, about – about how to pick up a girl.”

 

Clint waves a hand in the air. “Oh, well, that’s easy, Radar. You need to sweep her –”

 

Peter shakes his head. “No no no no  _ no _ ,” he says, reaching up and pulling off his woolen cap. “I mean…how do you get a girl to like you?”

 

“Oh, my little grasshopper,” Tony says, eyes still roaming the solitaire game. He doesn’t want to draw until he has to, and it looks like he might have to. “You have so much to learn. First of all –”

 

Peter sits up straight. “Hold on.”

 

Both Clint and Tony look to Peter. “What is it, kid?” Clint asks.

 

Peter’s eyes dart back and forth. “Choppers!” he shouts, leaping off the cot and running out of the Swamp. Tony throws his cards on the table, not bothering to wait for Clint as he runs for the landing pad. The wind from the blades stirs up the dust, and Tony turns his head to cough. Once it lands, he unstraps the patient.

 

“He’s in shock! Get him some plasma!” He reaches for the buttons on the man’s shirt and rips them apart. The dog tags are cold against Tony’s hand, and he can’t see the name before the orderlies have grabbed the stretcher and are moving him to one of the jeeps.

 

There aren’t many wounded to take care of; in fact, it’s just the one – General Bruce Banner. Once he’s gone through pre-op, Tony points to Clint. “You’re assisting me. Natasha, you scrubbed up?”

 

The redhead looks up sharply. “Yes, doctor.” Once Tony’s scrubbed and clean, she ties his surgical mask and follows him into the operating room.

 

Halfway through the operation, Clint nods to the instrument that is currently regulating Banner’s blood pressure. “You noticing that?”

 

Tony leans back just enough that he can see. “Yeah, I’m seeing it. Uh, nurse, get me 100 milligrams of hydrocortisone.” He shakes his head. “Can’t lose a  _ general _ , can we?”

 

Natasha reappears by his side. “Doctor, we don’t have anymore hydrocortisone.” As proof, she holds up an empty vial. “This was the last of it.”

 

Tony looks between the empty vial and the general. “Dammit. Okay, uh…get me another unit of O negative. That might get us out of the woods.”

 

“Yes, doctor.”

 

The extra unit of blood helps get the general out of danger, and Clint and Tony finish the operation without any other mishaps.

 

“Can you believe that?” Clint asks, reaching up and untying his surgical mask. “Not enough hydrocortisone.” He scoffs, running his hands under the water. “Who ordered this month’s supply? I’d just like to have a word.”

 

Tony shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’ll help you find him.”

 

They find the perpetrator in the supply tent.

 

“Pepper!” Tony shouts, and he has to hand it to her – she doesn’t so much as flinch. She merely turns around and raises an eyebrow at him. “You know who ordered the supplies for this month?”

 

She pulls a face. “It just so happened that  _ I _ did, Captain.”

 

Tony narrows his eyes. “Well, you obviously didn’t do a good enough job of it because  _ this _ ,” he holds up the empty vial of hydrocortisone, “was our last unit of hydrocortisone.”

 

Pepper furrows her eyebrows and flips through the papers on her clipboard. “That can’t be right, I  _ know _ I ordered some…” She finally finds the order form and thumps the clipboard with her fingers. “See! 200 vials of hydrocortisone.”

 

Clint forces a smile. “Well, it ain’t here, sweetheart.”

 

“Well, that’s not my fault!” she protests.

 

“You ordered it!”

 

“Now, now, gentlemen, please.” Both Clint and Tony roll their eyes at the sound of Happy’s voice, and he forces his way through them to stand beside Pepper. “Major Potts did order the medical supplies.”

 

Clint grabs the empty vial from Tony’s hand and waves it in Happy’s face. “That still doesn’t explain why we don’t have any of them!”

 

“Have either of you two heard about the black market? They’re going crazy with this sort of thing, stealing all the medical supplies they can get their hands on. Once they get it, oh,” Happy shakes his head for emphasis, “there is no hope of getting it back.”

 

Tony hisses through his teeth. “Then why doesn’t the Army stop them?”

 

Happy lifts his chin in offense. “The Army is doing their fair share! In fact, there’s an Army truck parked outside with all the equipment we ordered. I told you the Army would come through.”

 

Tony throws his hands in the air. “Well, why didn’t you  _ lead _ with that, you nincompoop?” He hurries out of the supply room, and just as Happy said, an Army truck is parked outside. A private hops out of the driver’s seat and walks around to the back.

 

“Sorry about the wait,” the private says. “The MP’s are stopping every vehicle. You know how the black market is.”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah. No sweat.”

 

Clint reaches up and helps the private open the back doors to the truck. And they’re greeted with…

 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 

“Oh,” the private says.

 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Oh.” He throws the vial at Clint. “Go get Quill.”

 

Clint catches the vial. “You coming with?”

 

Tony lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Instead of shooting the messenger, I’m going to tip him.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a dollar. “I don’t have much money, um…” He squints at the private’s dog tags.

 

“Pietro Maximoff, sir.” Private Maximoff salutes.

 

Tony smiles. “Pietro, eh?”

 

“My mother’s Italian, sir.”

 

He shakes his head and presses the dollar into Pietro’s hand. “Take care, Private.”

 

Pietro smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

 

\---

 

“Quill!”

 

Peter Quill stands behind a new desk, not even noticing how Clint and then Tony come barrelling into his office. Radar looks up from his clipboard and shrugs.

 

“You know what kind of wood this is?” Quill says in his reverie, running his hands over the smooth desk.

 

Tony doesn’t even glance at it. “It’s oak.”

 

Quill shakes his head. “Nope. It’s oak.”

 

Clint rolls his eyes. “Ten-hut!”

 

Quill and Radar immediately snap to attention, their right hands touching their foreheads in a salute. When Clint laughs, Quill relaxes and glares at them both before sinking into his chair. “And what do you want?”

 

Clint drops the vial of hydrocortisone on the desk. “We need you to call General Hammond and order us another shipment of hydrocortisone. That was our last vial. General Banner could have died, Quill.”

 

Quill just shrugs. “Well, I don’t know about this, guys, I mean…he’s probably really busy and I don’t want to disturb him. Look, the Army will just do its job and we’ll get a replacement shipment in a couple of days.”

 

Clint places his hands on the desk and leans forward so that he’s in Quill’s face. “Even if we hadn’t already  _ got _ our replacement shipment, a couple of days is still a long time, Peter.”

 

“Sir?”

 

Clint waves a hand. “Not you, Radar.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Tony walks around the desk and gestures for Radar to come over. “I need you to call Hammond for me, Pete,” he whispers. Clint is still talking to Quill about the entire situation, trying to argue him into submission.

 

Peter’s eyes widen, and he points to himself. “Me, sir? You can’t possibly expect me to – I-I’m just a corporal!” he says, standing up straighter. When he thinks he spoke too loudly, he glances over his shoulder to see that he didn’t disrupt the other ongoing conversation. “I’m not supposed to talk to generals,” he hisses. “Major Hogan says it will give me a big head.”

 

“Listen, kid, if you don’t call up Hammond, I will. You or me.” Tony holds out the phone to Peter, somehow knowing that he’ll take it.

 

Peter sighs. “Okay, fine, I’ll call him. But you’re gonna be the one to talk to him!”

 

“That’s fair.” He waits while Peter disappears from the office for a second, and he puts the phone to his ear. It takes Peter about thirty seconds to patch a call through to the general, and Tony taps his fingers against his thigh while he waits.

 

“Oh, well if it’s the black market, then I don’t want to mess with it, Clint. I mean, if Hammond calls me, I’ll talk to him, but I won’t be the one to contact him, no siree!”

 

Tony’s about to open his mouth to smart off Quill when General Hammond’s voice booms over the phone. “Who the hell is calling me and for what reason?”

 

Tony smiles. “Hello, General Hammond sir. This is Peter Quill speaking, and I have a problem of utmost urgency that you need to take care of.”

 

“Well, what is it?”

 

“Just a minute, General.” Tony leans back in his chair and hands the phone over to Quill. “It’s General Hammond for you, sir.”

 

Quill takes the phone and looks over at Clint. “Would you look at that? He called me!”

 

Clint kicks the desk, and Quill jumps. “ _ Ask _ about the hydrocortisone.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Quill straightens in his seat, as if General Hammond is inspecting him over the telephone. “Hello, sir? You called? What do you mean I called you, I didn’t call yo–”

 

Clint kicks the desk again.

 

“I’m sorry, sir. Um, well, you see…it’s just that we put in an order for hydrocortisone, but the black market has taken our medical supplies, and it’s just that we would like to have them back, General.” He furrows his eyebrows. “Now look, General, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but we don’t have – no, I get that we were given our supply for the month, but we don’t exactly have it! I’m just asking you to spare fifty vials –” His eyes widen and his face pales. He swallows heavily. “Y-yes, sir, I’ll – I’ll try to do that, sir. Thank you.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes and leans back against the wall.

 

Quill turns to them both. “He told me something that was anatomically impossible.”

 

Clint throws his hands up in the air. “Well, what are we supposed to do, Quill? We need that hydrocortisone!”

 

“Well, look, if the black market took it, then the black market has it. If we were back stateside, I’d say cut a deal, but the Army won’t have it. We’re going to have to do what we can without the hydrocortisone.”

 

Tony squints. “What do mean, ‘ _ do what we can without _ ?’ Quill, we’re missing medical supplies – blankets, gloves, masks, the whole shabang! We can’t do without those!”

 

Quill holds up a hand, and Tony reluctantly shuts his mouth. “Yes, I know that, Stark, but the Army will at least give us those things when we run out. Hydrocortisone isn’t the same way. You can operate without it. Until next month, we’re going to just have to do what we can.”

 

Tony stares at him for a moment. “Grow a spine, Quill.” He pushes himself off the wall and walks out of Quill’s office.

 

He needs to see what Radar can do for them in the meantime.

 

\---

 

When he walks into the mess tent, he sees Peter Parker sitting on the opposite end of the tent with a tray of food stacked to the ceiling. He plops down in front of Peter.

 

Peter nods and lifts a finger. His mouth is full of food, and Tony legitimately wonders how the kid can eat the poison they call food. And he does it all  _ willingly _ . Peter swallows. “You want a three day pass?”

 

Tony glances over his shoulder, almost expecting Happy to materialize out of thin air at the mention of breaking the rules. “Two, actually.”

 

Peter takes a bite out of a chicken leg and points to his chest. “Front left pocket.”

 

Tony reaches forward, flips up the pocket flap on Peter’s shirt, and takes the two passes. “You are a saint, kid.”

 

Peter smiles. He gestures over his shoulder with his fork. “I also signed out a jeep for you and Clint. Just make sure you bring it back,” he says, stabbing his potatoes with his fork. “You’re going to want to look for a guy named Charlie Lee. He’s the biggest black marketeer in Seoul. Try and cut him a deal.”

 

“Thanks, kid.” Tony watches as Peter continues to eat, and the pile of food that seemed impossibly large is now dwindling. Peter goes through two chicken legs, a pile of mashed potatoes and green beans, a salad, and three slices of bread in the span of ten minutes. Tony’s impressed, if a little disgusted. “I’ll be back to pump out your stomach later,” he finally says, getting up to leave the mess tent.

 

He doesn’t miss Peter’s look of indignation.

 

\---

 

They stop next to a bar on the outskirts of Seoul. Clint and Tony duck through the doorway, but Clint grips Tony’s shoulder. “Hold on a sec,” he says, jerking his head back towards the Jeep parked outside. “One of us should go watch the Jeep, what with all the black market activity.”

 

Tony nods, and they both leave the bar. “Good idea, Clint.” When they step outside, the Jeep still remains – except all four wheels are missing, the hood’s popped up, and the steering wheel has disappeared. Tony turns and glares at Clint. “You just got the idea a little too late.”

 

Clint just shrugs.

 

They find their way to the back of the bar. Charlie Lee stands waiting for them, and he shakes their hands. Leading them to his desk, he says, “Welcome, doctors. Please, come in. What can I do for you?”

 

“First question: where did you learn your English? You speak better than most of the folks on our base,” Clint says.

 

Charlie slowly sits in his chair. “I studied at the University of Iowa.”

 

“That’s really –” Clint stops when Tony puts out a hand to shut him up.

 

Tony puts his hands back in his pockets and rocks up on the balls of his feet. “Actually, we need some hydrocortisone. 200 vials. That’s all we’re asking.”

 

Charlie leans back. “Hydrocortisone, huh? I’m sorry, fellas, I can’t cut a deal.”

 

Clint leans into Charlie’s space, his hands curled around the front edge of the desk. “Can we ask why?”

 

Charlie shrugs. “I already have a buyer.”

 

Tony runs a hand through his hair, and parts of it stick up. “Okay, we’ll double the deal. How much was it?”

 

“They gave me 10,000 American dollars.”

 

Tony furrows his brow and shakes his head slightly. “We can’t even match that.” He starts pacing, drumming his fingers against his thigh. “What about a trade? We’ve got to have something you want.”

 

Charlie sighs and stands, crossing the small room. He pulls up the curtain leading to the back room, and there are dozens of tires, jewels, ice cream makers, books, cigarettes, and medical supplies.

 

“I’ll sell you my soul?” Tony tries.

 

Charlie smiles apologetically. “You have absolutely nothing that I want, doctors. If you will,” he says, gesturing to the doorway.

 

Tony turns to leave, but Clint turns him around and drags him back to the desk. “You’ve got to help us, Charlie.”

 

“What’s in it for me?”

 

Tony looks down at Charlie’s desk. It’s small and made of scrap wood. Suddenly, he turns to Clint. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

 

Clint also looks down at the desk and smiles. “Oh, yes.”

 

Charlie sits straight. “What? What are you two thinking?”

 

Tony smiles deviously. “Charlie, a man like you – someone of your expertise! – needs something to display his honor, his  _ dignity _ ! A man like you needs clothes, food, furniture to reflect your skills! You have the clothes and the food, but what you need –” Tony leans forward and wags a finger in Charlie’s face. “You need a desk that is every bit as magnificent as you are!”

 

Clint starts dragging Charlie’s desk backwards, and Tony assists him. “What do you say, Charlie?” Clint says. “You want a 100-year-old oak wood desk? Genuine, antique, homemade  _ desk _ ?”

 

Charlie purses his lips. “I’ll have to check it out.”

 

“Also,” Tony says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “We don’t exactly have a Jeep right now. Our tires were stolen.”

 

Charlie waves a hand. “Already taken care of.”

 

\---

 

Peter knocks on the door to the Swamp. Happy has gone to fraternize with Pepper, so Tony waves him inside.

 

“What do you want, kid? Are the patients all good?”

 

Peter furrows his brow. “Oh! Oh, yeah. Clint’s in post-op and he’s got it all taken care of. I was just wondering if you wanted to trade.”

 

Tony narrows his eyes. “Do you know how much trading I’ve done already today?”

 

Peter reaches into his jacket and pulls out a book. “I just wanna read one of your books.”

 

Tony flops back against his bed. “Peter, I don’t  _ have _ any medical journals to give you! You’ve read them all!”

 

“No, no,” Peter says, offering out his book. “I don’t want to read one of those. I want to read  _ And Then There Were None _ . Here, I’ll let you read  _ Tom Sawyer _ .”

 

Tony props himself up on his elbows and squints at the worn book. He takes it and thumbs through the tearing pages. “How many times have you read this, Radar?”

 

Peter lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t have anything else, other than those medical journals you give me sometimes.”

 

Tony smiles at Peter and unlocks his foot locker. He takes out a handful of books and passes them to Peter. “Here.” Before Peter can hand them back (like Tony knows he will), he pushes them into Peter’s hands. “Listen, it’ll take me longer to get through this one than it’ll take you to get through mine. I have a feeling that you’ll be reading those into the late hours of the night, anyways.”

 

Peter shuffles through the books with one hand and reaches up to scratch his head with the other. “Is –”

 

“Yes,  _ And Then There Were None  _ is in that stack.”

 

Peter smiles widely. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Tony watches as Peter bolts out of the Swamp, his nose already buried in the first page of Agatha Christie’s novel. He glances at the book Peter left on his cot, and he picks it up, and he reads.

 

\---

 

Clint and Tony wait outside for Charlie to show up. While they wait, they play a game of chess. By the time Charlie rolls up with his driver, Tony’s backed Clint into check.

 

The jeep rumbles to a stop, and both captains look up. “So it’s general today, Charlie?” Clint asks, a smirk dancing on his face.

 

Charlie straightens his jacket. “I thought it was a good plan.”

 

“You weren’t wrong, General. May we take you to our commanding officer?”

 

“If you would.”

 

Clint and Tony lead Charlie to Quill’s office. Quill is dusting his desk, and it’s only once Tony shouts, “Ten-hut!” that Quill drops his rag and snaps to attention.

 

Charlie returns the salute. “Colonel, I am General Kim Jae-in.” He inspects the desk, running his finger under the edge. “I have heard about your M*A*S*H and I wanted to come to thank you in person.”

 

Quill blushes. “Oh, thank you so much. You know, we really try our best and we have the finest surgeons around.”

 

“Minus Happy,” Tony says.

 

Quill sends Tony a look that says, “cut it out.” Tony just shrugs in response.

 

Charlie continues to admire the desk. “Homemade, yes?”

 

Quill’s eyes light up. “Oh, yes!” He puffs out his chest. “Guess what type of wood this is, General.”

 

“It’s oak,” Charlie says, his eyes roaming the impressive woodwork.

 

“Nope. It’s oak.”

 

Clint rolls his eyes. “I’m just curious, though, Peter…how did you get a desk this big into your office?”

 

“Oh!” He leans forward and runs his hands over the top of the desk. “The top comes off.”

 

Tony looks over at Clint. “Did you hear that? The top comes off.” He gestures at the desk. “How did you fit it in here? It must be a hundred pounds.”

 

“Oh, it is. It takes two or more people to get this bad boy through.” Quill pats the desktop. “She’s a beaut, that’s what she is.”

 

Charlie nods carefully. “Thank you, Colonel. I must be going now.” He offers his hand, and Quill shakes it. “I wish you the best.”

 

“You, too, General.”

 

Charlie hurries out of Quill’s office. Once outside, he turns to the captains. “I’ll take it! Have this desk out here at 0600 hours. If it’s not here then, the deal is off. I’m a busy man, you know.”

 

“0600 hours. You’ve got it, Charlie,” Clint says, waving goodbye.

 

As the jeep drives off, Tony leans into Clint’s arm. “How are we going to get that desk out here?” he whispers.

 

“Are you asking me for a plan?” Clint whispers back. “I thought  _ you _ had a plan.”

 

“Me, having a plan? What universe are you living in?” He sighs, dropping his hand when the jeep is out of sight. “I’m going to go ask Radar to wake us up at 0500 hours. Make me a martini, if you will.”

 

“Sure thing,” Clint says. Before Tony can walk back to Peter’s quarters, Clint puts out a hand to stop him. “Hold on a sec.”

 

“What?”

 

Clint smiles. “You just called him Radar.”

 

Tony furrows his eyebrows, finally realizing what Clint is referring to. “Yeah, well, it’s not the first time. Just the first time in front of you.”

 

\---

 

“Sir? Sir.”

 

Tony hears the whisper and tries to pull his covers up over his head. “Go away, Radar, I don’t want to wake up for another twelve hours.”

 

“Sir, it’s 0500 hours. You told me to wake you.”

 

Tony grunts and pushes the covers off. “That I did, kid. That I did. Okay, I’m getting up. You can go back to sleep now.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

Peter disappears into the night, and Tony sits up, pulling on his trousers and Army jacket. He grabs his pillow and throws it at Clint, and Clint bolts up in bed. After the initial shock passes, he glares at Tony. Tony just jerks his head in the direction of Quill’s office. “0500 hours.”

 

Clint grumbles but starts getting dressed nonetheless.

 

They sneak past Peter, who’s trying to read the book Tony loaned him a couple of nights ago. “That’s bad for your eyes,” Tony says as he passes him.

 

“Oh, well,” Peter says offhandedly.

 

“Go back to sleep in case Happy gets the feeling that we’re violating Army protocol,” Clint whispers.

 

“Alright, sir,” Peter says. He sets the book in the slot next to his bed and grabs his teddy bear, pulling it close to him.

 

Once inside Quill’s office, they circle the desk. “How does the top come off?” Tony hisses. “Did Quill say anything about that?”

 

“Not that I know of,” Clint whispers back. They finally situate themselves at either end of the desk and try to lift the top off. It’s heavier than they expected, and it doesn’t so much as budge.

 

“Maybe we need to push it.” He waits while Clint walks around to his end before he starts pushing.

 

Again, the top doesn’t budge.

 

He hears Pepper’s voice before he sees the light, and he drops to the ground quickly, grabbing Clint’s arm and dragging him down with him.

 

“What the hell are you doing –”

 

Tony puts his finger to his lips and jerks his head toward the door, where Pepper’s voice drifts in their direction. Clint’s eyes widen and he presses his back to the drawers.

 

Pepper’s footsteps stop just short of the door, and Tony’s eyes follow the beam of light coming from her flashlight. “Oh,” she says. “There’s no one here.”

 

Tony’s about to breathe a sigh of relief, but then he hears Happy’s footsteps.

 

“I knew there was something going – oh, Pepper. How nice it is to see you.”

 

“Major.”

 

“Major.”

 

Tony looks over to Clint and mockingly mouths “major” at him. Clint presses his lips to stifle a laugh.

 

“You wanna – uh – go to the supply tent?” Happy asks. His breaths are fast and heavy and Tony makes a gagging motion.

 

“Oh, of  _ course _ , Major.” Pepper’s voice is sickening. This time, it’s Clint who makes the gagging motion.

 

“You go on to the supply tent. I’m just going to lock up here,” Happy says.

 

Tony turns to Clint. “Lock up?” he mouths. He wants to be sure he heard correctly.

 

They both hear Happy try the heavy lock, and that’s all the confirmation Tony needs. “Shit,” he whispers.

 

“How are we going to get this out of here now?” Clint asks, drumming his fingers against the desk.

 

“I’m going to get Radar.”

 

“You said it again!”

 

“I’m just trying to differentiate between the two Peters. Don’t think that I would call him Radar under any other circumstances.” Tony stands and creeps over to the door. He waits until he’s sure that Happy and Pepper are gone, and then he knocks on the door. “Peter? Peter, wake up, we need your help.”

 

The top of Peter’s head pops up at the window. “I know, sirs, I just have to find the right key.”

 

“How many keys can there  _ be _ , kid?”

 

Peter holds up his key ring so Tony can see.

 

“That’s a lot of keys,” Clint says, stretching his back. “You know which one it is?”

 

“I know which one it  _ isn’t _ ,” Peter mumbles, fumbling to find one that matches the lock. “Here, let me try this one.”

 

Tony looks at his watch. “We don’t have all day, kid. Hurry up.”

 

“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying!”

 

Peter tries over ninety-eight keys, and none of them work. Tony should know. He’s been counting. Outside, the sun is rising, and he glances at his watch. “We have six minutes, kid, find the damn key!”

 

“I don’t know which one it is, sir!”

 

Clint sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He turns around and presses his back to the door. “The truck will be here soon.”

 

They all hear the rumbling outside, and Tony kicks the wall. “I think we’ve passed ‘soon.’ Peter, go stall him.”

 

“But sir!”

 

“No  _ buts _ , just go stall him while we find another way out of this mess.”

 

Peter salutes him. “Yes, sir. I’m going, sir.”

 

“Move!”

 

“Yes, sir.” Peter bolts out the door, clipping his keychain to his belt.

 

Tony begins to pace the office.

 

“Okay, you’ve stalled the driver, now how are we going to get this desk out of here?” Clint asks.

 

Tony waves his question away. “Hush. I can only handle one crisis at a time.”

 

“How did you become a doctor?”

 

“Just help me!”

 

Clint starts pacing the office as well, but Tony’s the one who finds a large metal box stashed in the space between a filing cabinet and Quill’s booze. He picks it up and sets it on the desk. Inside, he rifles through the tools until Clint picks up a saw. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

 

Tony grins at him. “Clint, you’re a godsend.” He pulls out the chair. “I’ll cut the top.”

 

“What are you doing? I’m taller than you. Get down from there.” Clint sets the saw down on the desk.

 

“You’re literally an inch taller than me. That doesn’t count.”

 

“We’re kind of running out of time.” Clint crosses his arms and quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Fine!” Tony steps down from the chair. “Let’s get the sides done first. There’s another saw in there, I think.”

 

Clint finds the other one and passes it to Tony. “Good luck,” he says.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Their work is fairly sloppy and certainly hurried, and finally, they cut out the back wall (yes, it was Clint who sawed the top of the wall. Tony wasn’t exactly done with his portion). Once Clint steps off the chair, Tony slides it back into its spot. They start pushing against the wall, and within seconds, it comes crashing down.

 

Tony high-fives Clint. “We are certified geniuses.”

 

Clint grins. “That we are.” He sets the saws back in the metal box and stuffs it back in its original corner. “C’mon, help me here, will ya?”

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Tony takes one end of the desk and Clint takes the other, and together, they pick it up and start walking it to the front of headquarters. When they turn the corner, however, they see Happy talking to the driver, and Peter’s eyes widen and he shakes his head imperceptibly.

 

“Quick, go back!” Clint hisses. “I’ve got an idea.” They set the desk down in front of the ramp the fallen wall formed and cover it with a sheet. “Okay, okay, pretend we’re…I don’t know, come up with something!”

 

“Just sit down!” Tony hisses.

 

“We need chairs!”

 

“Well,  _ get _ them, you nincompoop!”

 

Clint hurries and grabs the two chairs that normally sit in front of Quill’s desk. “Here.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Tony folds his hands as if in prayer, and Clint immediately follows suit. Twenty seconds later, they hear the unmistakable sound of Happy’s footsteps. “Well, what are you two doing out here?” he asks disdainfully.

 

Clint looks over his shoulder and licks his lips. “It’s early Mass.”

 

Happy raises his eyebrows. “Oh.” He takes off his cap and bows his head. “Wait.”

 

Tony stiffens.

 

“Where’s Father Rogers?” Happy says, leaning in between the two.

 

“Oh. We started without him,” Clint says.

 

Happy snarls at them and leaves once he spots Pepper.

 

They wait until they’re sure he’s out of their sight, and then they pull the sheet off the desk. Peter runs up to them. “I tried, sirs, really, I did, but Major Hogan sent him away!”

 

“That’s okay, Peter, just go get Odinson.” Tony grunts when he tries to pick up the desk. “And get some rope!”

 

“Yes, sir.” Peter runs off, picking his way past rocks.

 

Clint jerks his head in the direction of the landing pad. “Hurry up!”

 

“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying!”

 

A couple of minutes later, Thor Odinson runs up to the chopper pad. “Okay, I’m here,” he says, tugging on his jacket.

 

“You got some rope?” Clint asks him.

 

Thor holds it up. “Radar gave this to me.”

 

“Why does everyone call him Radar?” Tony says, reaching out for the rope.

 

“You call him Radar,” Clint points out.

 

“Not all the time, though.” Tony ties a trick knot around the desk and gives it an experimental tug. “Alright, that should hold. I can do the same thing to the chopper.” He works quickly, and soon Thor’s waving them goodbye as he takes off.

 

“I hope this works,” Clint says.

 

“You and me both, pal.” Tony jerks his head back towards headquarters. “C’mon, let’s go see the mess we’ve made.”

 

When they arrive to the scene of the crime, both Quill and Happy are watching in awe as the helicopter carries the desk away. Quill stands in his boxers and his robe, his jaw dropped as he watches the desk fly away.

 

“Hey, isn’t that your desk, Peter?”

 

Quill nods his head absently. “Yep. That’s my genuine, antique desk.”

 

“Sending it out to get waxed, Quill?” Tony asks. He looks to his right and sees that Happy is saluting the desk, and he snorts.

 

“I don’t know what it’s doing up there. It just keeps going up and up and up.”

 

Clint and Tony laugh before turning to leave. “I’d check with your insurance. See if they can pay for it,” Clint says.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Tony elbows Clint in the ribs. “Let’s go grab a bite to eat. I’m starving.”

 

“Starving enough to eat whatever they have in the mess tent?”

 

Tony looks offended. “I’m not  _ that _ hungry.”

 

\---

 

The next day, Charlie rolls up to the camp in a jeep. He waits until Clint and Tony walk up to them, and then he passes them a box. “The desk is fantastic. Here’s your hydrocortisone. 200 vials.”

 

Tony smiles at him. “Thanks, Charlie.”

 

Charlie shrugs. “No sweat. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to take care of.”

 

Clint lifts his hand to wave goodbye. “See ya later, Charlie.”

 

The jeep drives off and the two captains head to the supply tent.

 

“Sir! Captain Stark, sir!”

 

Tony stops walking and rolls his eyes fondly. “Here,” he says to Clint, passing him the box of hydrocortisone. “You take this to the supply tent. I have a shadow.”

 

Clint grins at him. “You know Radar looks up to you, right?”

 

“I can’t see why.”

 

Clint laughs and shoves Tony. “Shut up.”

 

Peter runs up to Tony’s side, panting a little. “Here, sir,” he says, passing him a book.

 

Tony looks down at his copy of  _ And Then There Were None _ . “Jesus, kid, did you finish this already?”

 

Peter shrugs. “I told you I don’t have much to read around here.”

 

Tony smiles and slings an arm around Peter’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go to the mess tent. I want to hear what you thought about it.”

 

Peter’s eyes light up. “It was the  _ best _ book I’ve ever read, sir. It was so intriguing, and I didn’t expect that ending.”

 

Tony opens the door to the mess tent. “Tell me all about it, Radar. Don’t leave out a single detail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4
> 
> I'm also making Clint and Tony taller than 5'9". RDJ and Jeremy Renner are too short. We're not doing that. Clint is 6'3" and Tony is 6'2" (the height he always wanted to be). Peter is still short, but just a smidget shorter.
> 
> Also, I headcanon in this fic that Tony tries really hard not to call Peter "Radar" unless he's trying to differentiate between Quill and Parker.


	3. Chief Surgeon Who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During an intense session in the OR, Tony has to respond to questions while he himself is in the middle of a patient. No one asks Happy.
> 
> Happy is not actually happy with this development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: I want to make it _very_ clear that there will be absolutely no romance between Steve and Tony in this fic. Mostly because I personally don't ship it and it's fine if you do, but please do not comment it below. In this fic, Steve is a celibate priest who abides by the Catholic laws of _not ever having sex_. So, again, please don't remark on any potential romance you might see. They're friends, yes, so just their relationship in general is fine.
> 
> Secondly, I did not think that I'd be able to finish this chapter today, because I thought I left my episode notes at home. Well done, three-weeks-ago me. I found them in my travel bag.
> 
> Thirdly: Peter is such a bookworm like let's be real here.
> 
> Word count, based on my Google Doc: 5022

It’s practically like clockwork – Major Hogan slips out of the Swamp at close to nine o’clock, and he doesn’t return until three in the morning. Tony might be concerned for Pepper if he didn’t scan the duty roster every now and again.

 

When Happy’s out of the tent and… _ fraternizing _ with Pepper, Tony allows Peter to come into the tent. Sometimes they talk. Most of the time they don’t, and it’s all because Tony has no idea what to say.

 

Tonight, however, Clint is trying to catch up on some sleep, so when Peter opens the door to the Swamp, Tony presses his index finger to his lips and jerks his head in Clint’s direction. Peter follows the gesture, and he nods when he realizes that Clint is sleeping. Instead, he lifts the book in his hand and holds up 3 fingers, then 2. Tony nods and points Peter to his cot.

 

Tony doesn’t care for nights like these. It’s always too quiet. When there’s no one around to talk his ear off, all he can think about are critical patients and how they’re doing. It worries him. He swirls the gin in his hand and takes a sip.

 

He finished the book Peter gave him two nights ago, but he hasn’t given it back yet. Right now, it sits beside his cot with an envelope pressed into the middle as a sort of bookmark. Peter doesn’t question it. Instead, he settles on Tony’s cot and opens his new read – Tony manages to catch the title  _ 1984 _ – to page 32. He tucks his chin into his jacket and props himself up on his left elbow.

 

Tony swirls the gin again.

 

He had a case earlier. The surgery was not unheard of. Practically routine in this situation, he just – it doesn’t sit right with him. He mentally runs through everything he did in surgery, trying to see if he missed anything, and he’s seriously contemplating going to get Pepper, seeing as how she was his assisting nurse. But as for now, Natasha hasn’t run to come get him, and everything is quiet. Even Sam’s heels are quiet whenever he passes by the Swamp.

 

Tony sighs quietly and takes a sip. He glances over at Peter, just in case his ESP is sending off any spikes of warning, but Peter is just engrossed in the novel. Nothing here. Tony can drink if he wants to.

 

Trouble is, he  _ doesn’t _ want to, and he wants to talk to  _ someone _ about  _ something _ , but Clint’s asleep and Peter’s reading. Quill is probably in dream land, knowing him.

 

Tony tries hard not to growl and sets his glass down gently. “I’m going to go talk to Father Rogers,” he whispers to Peter. Peter looks up with wide eyes and nods imperceptibly.

 

He hates leaving Peter by himself, but he figures that if the loneliness gets to be too much, Peter will just head back to his quarters so that he can at least have his teddy bear. Right now, Tony needs…somebody, really. He’d even be willing to talk to Pepper, if she weren’t so busy with Happy.

 

When he reaches the Father’s tent, he gently raps on the door. “Father? Can I come in?”

 

The door swings open, and Tony shuffles a couple of steps backwards. Father Rogers smiles and steps aside to allow Tony room to enter his tent. “Certainly, my son.”

 

The father is a scrawny sort of fellow, with hair the color of hay. He seems smaller than Peter a lot of days, and many a time Tony has worried how a man like Father Rogers is going to survive in a place like this. At his full height, Father Rogers stands at a solid 5 feet, 6 inches, and Tony is 90% percent sure the father got the  _ Father _ to pull some strings.

 

Father Rogers gestures to one of the rickety chairs in the tent. It’s fairly modest, and it’s much smaller than the other tents in the camp. “Sit down, my son.”

 

Tony sits.

 

Father Rogers lowers himself into his own chair and folds his hands on top of his desk. “Now, tell me: what is it that’s troubling you?”

 

Tony sighs, blowing out a breath of hot air. “I don’t know, Father. That’s what’s troubling. I just –” he shakes his head. “It’s too quiet here. I hate the noise, but the silence is just as loud, but the thing is: when it’s loud, when there’s people bustling around and when Clint and I joke around in OR, my mind isn’t –” he waves his right hand ambiguously “– running twelve hundred miles an hour. But when it’s silent, like it is right now, then I have time to think. I get to think about Jarvis and my Aunt Peggy worrying their butts off back home, and I get to think about what would have happened if I  _ had _ just packed up and headed to Canada until the war was over. I get to remember the life I had, Father, and I miss it. I miss it a lot.”

 

“We all do, my son.”

 

He shakes his head again. “No, you don’t get it. That’s not all of it – I mean, yeah, it’s some of it, but I just…I can’t get one of my patients out of my mind. My gut is just telling me that I’m missing something, but every rational part of me is telling me that there isn’t anything to worry about. My sutures are fine. I didn’t miss any holes. The patient is stable, and yet…”

 

Father Rogers tries to catch Tony’s eye. “Would you like me to pray for him?”

 

“You got an eebie-jeebies prayer, Father?”

 

Father Rogers smiles. “I think I can figure something out.”

 

Tony nods his head and waves for him to go ahead.

 

Father Rogers makes the sign of the cross and bows his head. Tony does the same. “My God, would you please be with Captain Stark’s patient and heal him. Be with Captain Stark and ease his worry and assure him that he did everything he knew to do. We thank thee for all your blessings. Amen.”

 

“Amen,” Tony whispers. Before he can stand, however, Father Rogers extends his hand and motions for Tony to sit back down.

 

“Is there anything else?”

 

Tony chews on his top lip. “I’m just worried about Radar, Father. He’s just…he’s so young. I can’t believe they would draft him at such a young –”

 

“Oh, you don’t know?”

 

“What? Know what? What don’t I know?”

 

Father Rogers seems to realize his mistake and he shakes his head. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to ask Radar that question yourself.”

 

“That’s fine, if only I knew what to ask him.”

 

Father Rogers smiles. “Why are you worried about him, my son?”

 

“He’s a kid, Father. A kid like that doesn’t deserve to be in a war zone. He’s just –” Tony sighs. “He’s just so innocent and young and fragile, and here I just…I can’t protect him. He’s so vulnerable, and I hate that. I hate that this war is going to strip him of his innocence, and I wish that he could keep it.”

 

“He might yet. Wars don’t last forever, you know.”

 

“Certainly feels like they do. Thanks anyway, Father. Means a lot.”

 

Father Rogers nods. “Anytime, my son.”

 

As Tony walks back to his tent, the door to the Swamp bangs open and Peter races by him. “Choppers!” he shouts.

 

Tony growls and hurries back to the Swamp so he can wake Clint. When he ducks through the door to the Swamp, he notices that Peter’s book is lying haphazardly on Tony’s cot. Before Tony can shake Clint awake, Peter comes over on the PA.

 

“Attention, attention! Incoming wounded on choppers and ambulances! All medical teams report to OR!”

 

Tony pulls the sheets off Clint’s body and tosses his boots at him. “Come on, up and at ‘em. We have casualties.”

 

Clint groans but willingly accepts the jacket Tony tosses at him. “You’d think they’d have a little respect for the dead.”

 

“Yeah, well, they don’t. Hurry up, we gotta get to triage.”

 

“I’m up, I’m up.” Clint pulls his left boot on and trails Tony out the door of the Swamp. Outside, wounded litter the ground.

 

Now, Quill may be incompetent as a commanding officer, but Tony has to respect his efficiency in triage. He weaves between the nurses, kneels beside the wounded patients, and checks them. He disregards which side is which, and that…Tony can respect that.

 

Meanwhile, Happy is fumbling around, trying to put the Americans first in line. He waves for Sam and Radar to come get a minor leg wound, but they both just push past him as soon as Quill calls for them.

 

“We’ve got a major chest wound here, get him into pre-op! Right now, he’s first.” Radar and Sam run up to the patient and pick up his stretcher, hurrying back to pre-op.

 

“But sir!” Happy whines. “He’s the enemy!”

 

“Funny,” Quill mumbles, kneeling next to another wounded soldier, “he bleeds just like our side.” He looks up and nods at the nurse. “Get him into pre-op.”

 

“Sir, I demand that you follow protocol!”

 

Quill doesn’t stop, not even for a second. “I’m a doctor, Happy, I’m not a soldier. I’m doing what I would do back home. Capiche?”

 

“But sir –”

 

“Most wounded first, regardless of side. That’s an order.” Quill doesn’t often pull rank, but it’s effective in getting Happy to work quickly.

 

There are thirty different major cases, and the four surgeons run to get scrubbed up. Radar, Sam, and the other orderlies bring in the casualties, one by one. The OR is tense, and Tony just thinks about his work as he tries to stitch his patient together. There are no wisecracks, no flying insults, just the clink of metal and the doctors asking for assistance.

 

“Hey, Stark, I need your help over here.” Quill is the first caller.

 

“Tony, what do you do here?” Clint is the second.

 

“Stark, I need your help right now.”

 

“Just ask me the damn question! I’ve got to keep working on this kid or else his kidney’s never gonna dance again.”

 

“Hey, Stark, this guy’s got a belly full of shrapnel. I need your help with the resection.” Clint isn’t always the most patient person in the room, and it’s especially prevalent in the OR today, when he asserts himself in front of Quill.

 

Tony sighs. “Okay, hang on, hang on, I’ll be right there.”

 

Happy looks up from his patient. “I can give you a hand in a minute, Barton.”

 

“Never mind! I’ll wait.”

 

Tony sticks his tongue out in concentration as he focuses on his own patient.

 

“Why do you keep handing me the wrong instruments?” Happy demands of Nurse Foster.

 

“Because you keep asking for the wrong instruments,” Tony responds dryly.

 

“Will you shut up, Stark!”

 

“How would you like a spleen across the mouth?”

 

Nurse Potts straightens her shoulders and glares at Tony. “Gentlemen! You’re  _ doctors _ , remember?”

 

Tony quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’ve seen better surgeons operating on trees.”

 

Quill grits his teeth. “How many have we got waiting out there?”

 

“A couple dozen more casualties, at least,” Pepper says.

 

“I’ve got a bad pancreatic injury here, anything outside the skull, I’m dead,” Quill says, by way of demanding for Tony’s help.

 

Tony doesn’t look up from his work. “Resect it.”

 

Happy, however, does look up from his work. “No! The book says ‘drain it!’ Always!”

 

“You know,” Tony says through gritted teeth, “if you were a proctologist, I’d tell you what to do with that book. You’re a year behind in your journals!” He looks up from his patient. “Resect it, Quill.”

 

“Got it. Thanks, Stark.”

 

“Are you ever going to help me over here, Tony?”

 

Tony looks over at Nurse Potts. “You’ve got it over here?”

 

She nods. “I think so.”

 

“Just a simple suture. I’ll be back in a sec.”

 

Pepper takes a shaky breath and prepares to take over the surgery for a minute. Tony leaves his table and peers over Clint’s shoulder. “Nurse, suction.” Finally, he can see, and he points to the lining of the intestines. “Check for little nicks. No big holes. You’ve covered those.”

 

Clint nods, and Tony heads back to his table.

 

“Why doesn’t anyone ask me anything? I  _ am _ the ranking surgeon, after all,” Happy says.

 

“It might be because you’re incompetent, outdated, and generally terrible,” Clint says.

 

“Well, I graduated medical school, too!”

 

“How much did you have to bribe the dean?” Quill asks snarkily. Nurse Romanoff smiles behind her mask.

 

“I’m just as good a surgeon as Stark!” Happy protests.

 

“Hap, even  _ I _ am not as good a surgeon as Stark. He’s the best surgeon in Korea. Don’t exalt yourself like that. It’s even against the Bible. Right, Father? It’s against the Bible to exalt yourself.” Quill grunts and pulls a piece of shrapnel out of his patient.

 

Father Rogers raises his eyebrows. “Oh yes,” he says, “I suppose it is in there, somewhere.” His eyes crinkle in a smile and he looks around the OR. “‘And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted.’”

 

“See, Hap?” Tony asks, running his tongue over his top teeth. “If you  _ acknowledge _ that you’re a terrible surgeon, maybe you’ll end up as a good one.” He continues to suture the intestine.

 

“Fink!”

 

“Come now, Hap, we don’t use that kind of language in front of children,” Quill says. He sticks his hand out. “Clamp.”

 

“What children?” Happy practically shouts.

 

Quill jerks his head in the other Peter’s direction. “That child, Hap. He’s very fragile, you know.”

 

Peter Parker narrows his eyes at the commanding officer. “I am not!”

 

“Can I get some quiet in here?” Happy says.

 

“You’re the one talking!” the surgeons all say at the same time.

 

Pepper glares at Tony again. “Can we all just agree to some peace and quiet?”

 

Tony shrugs. “That’s fair.” He steps back from the table. “Pete- Radar, come over here and get me a fresh patient.”

 

\---

 

Quill growls, ducking under his desk. “Where did I leave that fishing catalogue?”

 

Peter doesn’t look up from his filing duties. “In your tent, sir.” He closes the drawer. “Major Hogan wants to press charges against Captain Stark.”

 

Quill tries to crawl backwards to stand up, but he bangs his head on the desk. “Fuck!” He gets out from underneath the desk. “Why the hell does he want to do that?”

 

Peter shrugs. “You’ll have to ask him, sir.”

 

Quill turns around, pulling open one of the filing drawers to search for Happy’s complaint. “Gee, I don’t know who Happy Hogan thinks he is. I mean, he is the most insolent, aggravating, incompetent surgeon I’ve ever met.”

 

The door swings open, and Happy walks into Quill’s office. “Um, sir,” Peter says, trying to prevent Quill from sticking his foot in his mouth, but Quill just shakes his head and slams the drawer closed.

 

“No, I mean it, Radar. I don’t even know how he got  _ into _ medical school, let alone graduated. Why couldn’t the Army have sent us another Stark or Barton? They’re qualified. Happy’s not and –” Quill growls again.

 

Happy clears his throat, and Quill stiffens, slowly turning around. “Radar, why didn’t you tell me that Major Hogan was in here?”

 

“I tried to, sir, I promise –”

 

Quill sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Never mind. Dismissed.”

 

Both Peter and Happy remain where they are. Happy rolls his eyes and turns to Peter. “He means  _ you _ , pipsqueak!”

 

Peter’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he says, saluting both Quill and Happy as he hurries from the room. “My apologies, sirs.”

 

Quill lowers himself into his chair. “What are the charges, Hap?” He flicks the paper and begins to list off the charges against Tony. “Insubordination, failure to salute a superior officer…” He sets down the paper. “Care to explain.”

 

Happy doesn’t look down. “I have got oak leaves on my shoulders,” he says, tugging at his collar to demonstrate his rank.

 

“And I’ve got dimples on my  _ butt! _ Hap, the nearest thing to a salute on this post is the camp mutt scratching the fleas behind his ears!” 

 

Happy sniffs. “Would you please continue with the charges?”

 

“Lack of military courtesy…” Quill looks up quizzically.

 

Happy still stands at attention. “Calling a superior officer by their first name. Captain Stark only ever calls me ‘Happy,’ and it’s against Army Regulation – page 85 of the Army’s Officers Guide.”

 

Quill rolls his eyes. “Out of uniform.” He picks up the paper from his desk and tosses it into the wastebasket. “I can’t believe you, Hap.”

 

“Look, Peter,” Happy says, completely oblivious to the way Quill clenches his jaw, “if you don’t listen to these charges, I’m afraid I’m going to have to go over your head.”

 

Quill huffs out a bitter laugh. “You mean you’ll get Pepper to do it for you? Alright.” He sighs heavily. “Rad–”

 

Peter Parker seems to materialize at his side. “I already sent for Captain Stark. He should be here shortly.”

 

As if on cue, Tony walks through the doors of Quill’s office wearing his red robe.

 

Happy turns back to Quill. “See? He’s out of uniform!”

 

“I tried to sleep in my uniform the other day and it just got wrinkled.”

 

Quill leans back in his chair and gestures to Happy. “Okay, carry on with the charges.”

 

“It’s just – he gets to call all the shots in the OR, Colonel!”

 

Tony laughs bitterly and rubs his eyes. “Are you serious, Hap?  _ That’s _ what you’re pissed about? Jesus.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry that people ask me questions and I answer them.” He grins devilishly. “Are you happy now?”

 

Peter snorts into his hand, and even Quill looks to be hiding a smile.

 

Tony’s just getting warmed up. “You know, Hap. Some are born great, others have greatness thrust upon them. Then there are those of us who got it both ways,” he says, gesturing to himself. At Happy’s glare, he sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “Okay, look. I wanted to be a  _ doctor, _ but the Army apparently decided that I was needed here instead. I hate that. I want to go home, but since I’m here, I’m going to help those casualties as best I can. If that means answering people’s questions in the middle of surgery, then so be it!”

 

Before Happy can respond, Quill holds up both hands. “Okay, okay, gentlemen. I think I realize what I need to do.” He stands and walks around to the front of his desk. Happy backs up to give him room. Quill rests on the edge of his desk. “I’m going to need to appoint a chief surgeon.”

 

Happy grins smugly at Tony and Tony just shrugs his shoulders. In the back of the room, Peter’s watching the entire situation play out, gently setting his clipboard down.

 

“Someone who will be responsible for all cases to come through here, someone who’ll answer all surgically-related questions, someone who is qualified.”

 

Happy, almost unable to contain his glee, straightens his shoulders and nods once. “I think I can handle it, sir.”

 

Quill purses his lips. “I hope you can. I’m giving it to Stark.”

 

“What?!”

 

Quill shrugs. “Tony is the best cutter in the camp, and he’s certified in both chest and general surgery.”

 

Happy keeps looking from Tony to Quill. “But- but- I- I’m the ranking officer!”

 

Quill narrows his eyes, leans forward, and points a finger in Happy’s face. “Let’s face it, Hogan, when the heat’s on, Stark is the best surgeon in the camp!”

 

“But –”

 

Quill straightens up. “Dismissed.”

 

Grumbling, Happy turns to leave, but Quill stops him. “Hap?”

 

Happy turns back to Quill.

 

Quill plasters a sickeningly-sweet smile on his face. “Failure to salute a superior officer.”

 

Happy somehow manages to resist the urge to roll his eyes and salutes Quill before leaving the room.

 

Tony chews on his thumbnail. “That’s a lot of trust you have in me, Quill.” He gets up to leave.

 

Quill sits on the edge of his desk. “Don’t let me down, Stark.”

 

Tony looks to the ground and looks back to Quill. “I won’t, sir.”

 

\---

 

They throw a ceremony for him.

 

Personally, Tony really didn’t care for it, but Clint wanted to rub it in Happy’s and Pepper’s faces that Tony got the position and Happy didn’t.

 

It’s wild, to say the least. There’s a lot of alcohol, but one look at Peter, and he knows to avoid it. After they crown him as the chief surgeon (they got him a fucking  _ plunger _ as a scepter, not to mention the volleyball that became his orb) and the party begins, Tony gestures for Peter to talk with him in the corner of the tent.

 

“Sir?” Peter asks, a loopy grin on his face.

 

Tony squints at him. “Have you been drinking?”

 

Peter furrows his eyebrows and straightens his shoulders, his knees buckling. Tony grips one of his shoulders so that Peter doesn’t faceplant. “Oh, um, no sir.”

 

“Yeah-huh.” He glances over his shoulder at the party that’s still in full swing. “Anyway, what’s your ESP doing? Do you have any inkling that there are any casualties coming?”

 

Peter licks his lips and tries to concentrate. The word “no” is forming on his lips when he suddenly straightens and cocks his head. His eyes dart back and forth, and he licks his lips again. “One chopper,” he says. He squeezes his eyes shut. “One casualty.”

 

Tony nods and pats Peter’s shoulder. “Okay, thanks, kid.”

 

“No problem, sir.”

 

Before Tony leaves for the chopper pad, he takes the martini glass out of Peter’s hand. “No more alcohol, it’ll stunt your growth.”

 

“Hey!”

 

At the chopper pad, Tony sees that Peter was indeed correct: there is only one casualty, and it’s pretty bad. He rushes the soldier back to pre-op. “Romanoff,” he says, peeking his head into the tent. “I’m gonna need your help in OR.”

 

Natasha apologizes to the orderly currently flirting with her and follows Tony to pre-op. The soldier lies on a stretcher. She looks to Tony. “What’s your diagnosis?”

 

Tony sighs. “Chest wound. He’s lost 2 or 3 pints of blood, and he’s gotten less than a pint since he was injured to now. His pulse is 120 and his blood pressure’s about 90.”

 

“Shock?”

 

“Definitely shock,” he responds. He scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t want to operate on him like this. It could kill him.” He sighs. “Okay, here’s what I want you to do: I’m gonna put a tube in his chest, and I want you to watch him carefully. Report to me every fifteen minutes.” He glances at the soldier. “I’ll operate at 3 o’clock. His pressure and pulse should be stable by then.” He gestures to the IV with his head. “Give him a unit of O negative.”

 

Natasha nods. “Yes, doctor.”

 

“And, Nat?”

 

She turns. “Hm?”

 

“Sorry you’re missing the party.”

 

She flashes him a smile. “No, I’m glad. That orderly was getting handsy.”

 

Tony laughs. “Why do I get the feeling you might have broken his face if he tried anything more?”

 

“Because you’d be right.”

 

\---

 

Of  _ course _ Pepper and Happy complain to the Army about his appointment as chief surgeon.

 

All he knows is that he’s in the middle of a game of poker, Peter occasionally looking up from his book (it’s now  _ The Great Gatsby, _ and Tony gets the feeling that Peter hates it) to watch the game. He’s just established how many cards Clint has taken (a solid 0 that has Tony squirming in his seat) when the door to the Swamp bangs open, and all of the card players – Loki (Odinson’s adopted brother), Thor, and Clint – immediately stand at attention.

 

“At ease, gentlemen.”

 

The general walks around the table so that he’s looking at Tony. “A little birdie told me you have a patient that has yet to be operated on.”

 

Tony gnaws on his bottom lip. “You’d be correct.”

 

“That birdie  _ also _ tells me that the patient’s been waiting since 1:30.”

 

Tony waves his hand. “Yeah, and it’s 2 now. What’s your point?”

 

The general leans into Tony’s space, and Tony tries not to stiffen up, tries not to let the general know that he hates small spaces. “Why haven’t you operated?”

 

“Because it’s a bad idea.”

 

“It’s- Bad  _ idea, _ you say! How so?”

 

Tony looks up from his card game. “Look, General Banner, that patient has a major chest wound. I put a tube in him, one  _ very _ attractive nurse is watching him carefully, said nurse updates me every 15 minutes via another  _ very _ pretty nurse, and I’m waiting until 3 to operate.”

 

General Banner crosses his arms. “I’m ordering you to operate now!”

 

“Look, general, take the case yourself or join me at 3 o’clock! I’m not gonna do something that’s bad for the patient!”

 

General Banner growls. “I’m going to find your commanding officer.”

 

“Good luck with that.”

 

The general walks out of the Swamp, and Clint turns to Tony. “Banner? Isn’t that the general we operated on last week?”

 

“It was only a minor wound, and he’s a desk general. For the most part.” Tony rolls his eyes. “I fold.”

 

Peter sets his book down (yep, he officially hates it). “How did he get wounded if he’s a desk general?”

 

“Traveling, making rounds, the like,” Loki answers for Tony. He turns to Clint. “I don’t have all day.”

 

Clint growls and tosses two chips into the middle of the table. “Call.”

 

Loki grins and splays his cards on the table. “Full house.”

 

Clint grumbles and drops his cards on the table. “Two deuces.”

 

Loki laughs and gathers the chips.

 

\---

 

The general and Quill burst into the scrub room. “Colonel, did you know you have a man on guard duty wearing a skirt?”

 

Quill shrugs. “Well, luckily, he’s got the legs for it!” He laughs, but at the general’s glare, he shuts his mouth and looks to Tony and Clint scrubbing up. “Would you care to explain why you didn’t immediately operate on this patient?”

 

Tony’s cool as he runs his arms under the water. “Sure thing. You see, when he first got here at 1:30, he’d received less than a pint of blood after losing 2 or 3, his pulse was 120, and his blood pressure was about 90. Now, at 3 o’clock, he’s been given 3 pints of blood, his pulse is 80, his pressure is about 120, and he’s received 5 units of penicillin. He’s still bleeding internally, but now we can operate safely, instead of dangerously and hurriedly.”

 

General Banner looks at the ground. “I might have misjudged you, Stark.”

 

Tony smiles. “Care to join us, General? After all, you were here with us only a short week ago.”

 

The general rolls his eyes but scrubs up anyways.

 

Clint leans into the general’s side. “What kinda skirt was Sam wearing?”

 

Ganner tries to bite back a smile. “A pink pleated skirt with a yellow blouse.”

 

Clint whistles. “Be still, my fleeting heart!”

 

\---

 

In the OR, Tony directs Banner through the surgery. “Now, doctor, see? There are no small holes, only large ones, which means –” Tony grunts, trying to blink the sleep away from his eyes, “that there must be a hole somewhere in his lingula.”

 

“Why do you say that, Captain?”

 

Tony bites his top lip. “There are bubbles I can’t account for.” He nods for Natasha to apply suction. “Aha, look what we have here.” He turns to watch Banner lean over his shoulder. Banner makes eye contact and nods once.

 

“You were right, Captain.”

 

“Now that we’ve found this, it’s nice and easy from here. Care to take over, General?”

 

Banner holds up both hands. “I think you and I both know that you’re more qualified than I am.”

 

Tony grins. “Oh, what  _ talk.” _

 

\---

 

The sun has risen by the time they walk out of OR. Banner pulls off his surgical cap and turns to Tony. “Look, I’m not always so good at apologizing, but I want you to know that I truly am sorry for doubting you. You’re the best fit for the position of chief surgeon.” He offers his hand for Tony to shake, and Tony shakes it.

 

“What about Happy?” Quill asks, squinting into the sun.

 

“Might I make a suggestion about Happy?” Banner says.

 

Quill purses his lips and nods. “Of course, General.”

 

“Give him a high colonic and send him on a 10 mile hike.”

 

“With full pack,” Clint adds.

 

Banner looks at Clint. “Good touch,” he says dryly. “Well, anyway, I’ve gotta get going. I wish you all the best, doctors.”

 

Before the doctors can head to their respective rooms/jeep, Sam comes running up. He’s still on guard duty, but well…he’s not exactly  _ in _ uniform. Matter of fact, he’s not exactly in anything.

 

“My God, he’s naked!”

 

Sam grins. “How ‘bout it, General? Are you ready to give me my section 8?”

 

Clint waves a hand so Sam will lower his gun a little. “Please put something on.”

 

As Tony heads for the Swamp, he leans forward. “At least put on a slip, Sam.”

 

Sam turns to Quill. “Well, sir? How ‘bout it?”

 

Quill huffs. “ _ No, _ Sam.”

 

\---

 

Peter bursts into the Swamp and immediately tosses Tony  _ The Great Gatsby _ . “I hated it,” he says dryly.

 

Tony catches it and laughs. “What did you hate about it?”

 

Peter’s eyes grow comically wide. “What- what did I  _ hate _ about it?! Gee, if  _ I _ did what Gatsby did to get a girl, my aunt May would tan my hide!”

 

Tony rocks back onto his cot in laughter. “Okay, kid, you want another book?”

 

Peter scuffs the tip of his boot against the dirt. “Yes, please.”

 

Tony sits up and waves Peter closer to him. “Let’s see what I’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I myself am not a doctor and I used what I remembered from the episode for this chapter. This is probably not all accurate, so I apologize for any medical inaccuracies. I tried my best.
> 
> Also: there are so many Happy puns and that is why I'm still on this fic.
> 
> Expect an update in a month or so.


	4. The Moose + Dear Jarvis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! It's good to be back!  
> Recently, I've been going through episode lists and summaries to see which ones I can and which ones I can't cut. To be honest, I wasn't so fond of this primary episode, but seeing as how M*A*S*H actively shut down (or at least tried to) racism, I felt this was necessary.
> 
> Please, please, please, leave a comment down below. It helps motivate me in getting the next chapter(s) done.
> 
> Word count, as per my Google docs: 6846

He doesn’t know what to make of her, that Pepper Potts. She’s certainly competent, much unlike Happy. She carries herself with a certain air, like she stepped across the Atlantic Ocean with her shoulders squared and an American accent.

 

He swirls the martini in his hand. He wouldn’t put it past her to somehow be related to the English royal family.

 

Pepper has strawberry blonde hair that’s always tied up and long, pretty legs. (Not- not that he stares. It’s just. You know. Sometimes he catches her leaving the shower. Not that he’s- not that he’s looking! He would never look at Pepper that way. He was just waiting for her to be done. It’s just- it’s a long story, okay?) Even though Happy hates Radar, Pepper has taken a shine to the young boy and is gentle with him. She loans him books and tries to help him with certain subject material, in the event he decides to go to college after the war.

 

Happy’s stuck in post-op, and Tony took his martini glass to the mess tent to drown the God-awful taste of Army food. Across the tent, Pepper pokes at the food, occasionally looking up to condemn the flirting between certain personnel.

 

God, she’s gorgeous. Objectively speaking, that is. He doesn’t- he couldn’t  _ ever _ think of her like that. It’s just…you know, he has a reputation concerning women, and he’s just  _ objectively _ saying that Pepper is beautiful. Nothing will ever come of it.

 

Though he wonders what it would be like to kiss her…

 

“Sir?”

 

Tony turns his head immediately, hoping that Peter can’t read thoughts  _ (though, _ his gut tells him,  _ Peter probably can) _ . “Yeah, kid?”

 

Peter shoves his most recent read,  _ The Tempest, _ back at Tony. “Here, I finished it.”

 

Tony takes the book and stares at it in wonder. “How do you finish these things so quickly? Don’t you have work to do?”

 

Peter shrugs and scuffs the tip of his boot against the dirt. “I don’t know. I mean – I mean, yes, I do have work to do, but it doesn’t take that long as long as I do it right and I just –” He shrugs his shoulders again and seems to shrink further into himself. “I don’t have the same effect on the nurses as you and Clint do. I mean, the nurses go after you guys and they’re interested. They treat me like a kid.”

 

Tony tries not to smile. “That’s because you are a kid, Peter.”

 

Peter looks up sharply. “I’m old enough to be in a war! That’s why I volunteered in the first place!”

 

Tony furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Wait, sorry, I didn’t under– you  _ volunteered _ for this? Why the hell– you– I don’t– you  _ volunteered _ for this,  _ voluntarily?!” _

 

Peter hangs his head and slides into the seat across from Tony. “Yeah. My aunt and uncle barely had enough to make ends meet, and I was just another mouth to feed, so–” He scratches his nose with his index finger. “I can help them this way. And, well, it got the girls to notice me.”

 

“Peter, those girls aren’t worth it.”

 

Peter shakes his head. “I got to meet  _ you, _ didn’t I? And– and you’re a pretty cool guy, Captain Stark. And Colonel Quill…he’s a nice guy, too, and so’s Captain Barton. I mean, all of you are pretty neat and I would never have met ya if I hadn’t volunteered, so…”

 

Tony doesn’t understand. He doesn’t think he can. He doesn’t understand why Peter looks up to him and the others so much, doesn’t understand why Peter would step into this war willingly. He sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. “Give me a review,” he says, holding up  _ The Tempest _ in his hand.

 

Peter seems to brighten. “Oh, I think –” He leans forward, as if he’s sharing a secret, and God damn Tony the day he doesn’t try to put a smile on that kid’s face. “I thought that Caliban was actually a kinda decent fellow. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t good that he was always so– so–” he waves a hand in the air, trying to find the correct word, “so  _ crass, _ but he has some problems. I mean, I liked him until he tried to rape Miranda and then –” Peter leans back and shakes his head, and Tony can’t help but grin. “How could a guy do that?”

 

Tony purses his lips and considers the question. “I don’t know, Pete. I don’t know how anyone can be so cruel.”

 

He doesn’t tell Peter about his date for the night.

 

\---

 

Peter rounds the corner into Quill’s outer office just as Happy leaves Quill’s inner office.

 

“You idiot!” Happy shouts, stepping away from the boy. He ends up backing into Tony, and Tony looks to both Quill and Clint and rolls his eyes. “Look where you’re going next time, Corporal!”

 

Peter nods and ducks his head. “Yes, sir, sorry, sir –”

 

“Well, sorry isn’t enough!”

 

Peter flinches against Happy’s harsh tone but doesn’t do much to defend himself.

 

“Hey, Hap, it’s not that big a deal – the kid’s half a foot tall, you can’t expect him to see you,” Clint says, in an attempt at peace.

 

Happy glares at Clint over his shoulder. “Stuff it, Barton!” He turns back to Peter and leans into his space. “I’m putting you on cleaning duty. I want everything to  _ shine. _ Is that understood, Corporal Parker?”

 

Peter nods. “Yes- yes, sir.” He shuffles a few steps backwards and salutes.

 

“Happy, come on, you don’t have that authority,” Quill says, pushing his way forward.

 

“Yes, I do! I’m his superior officer!” He looks over to Radar and shoos him away. “Scram!”

 

Radar holds up the papers in his hand. “I, uh…I need to give these to the colonel to sign.”

 

Happy draws himself up to his full height. “Are you smart-mouthing a  _ superior officer?” _

 

Peter’s eyes widen. “N-no, sir, I wasn’t –”

 

Pepper puts a hand on Happy’s arm. “It’s alright, he was just doing his job.”

 

Happy shrugs her off. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

“Major Hogan!” Quill’s eyes are on fire, and Happy immediately snaps to attention. “I am  _ your _ superior officer, and I am  _ ordering _ you to leave the poor boy alone.” Quill looks over to Peter. “You don’t have to do what he says, Pete. Just put those papers on my desk. I’ll sign them in a bit.”

 

Peter nods and salutes before he ducks underneath Clint and Tony.

 

Quill steps closer to Happy. “Any other questions, Major?”

 

Happy shifts his weight uncomfortably. “No, sir.”

 

Quill smiles icily. “Good.”

 

\---

 

Sometimes, Tony feels bad for Peter Parker. This is one of those instances.

 

Happy yelled at him again a couple hours ago for reading an officer’s book (of course he didn’t listen when Tony tried to defend Peter, saying that he’d given Peter the book to read), and for delivering the mail in a certain way.

 

So right now, Tony has  _ The Adventures of Tom Sawyer _ tucked under his arm, ready for another reread, as he walks to Peter’s quarters. He figures it’s not a good idea for Peter to come into the Swamp for a few days until Happy cools off.

 

And just now, Tony’s come across a perfect opportunity to get back at Happy.

 

Happy and Pepper stand at the edge of one of the tents, talking about something or other (if Tony had to bet on what they were discussing, he’d guess Army protocol), their backs to him. A shit-eating grin spreads across Tony’s face, and he walks up behind them. He taps Happy’s shoulder. When Happy turns around, he holds out his book and says, “Can you hold this?” Happy takes it, a confused look on his face.

 

Tony grins again, grabs Pepper, dips her, and presses his lips to hers.

 

She’s surprised, he can tell, but he pulls her closer, his left arm snaking around her waist. She finally regains her senses and wraps her arms around his neck.

 

He wondered what it would be like to kiss Virginia “Pepper” Potts, but even his wildest fantasies couldn’t possibly have prepared him for the softness of her lips or the intoxicating smell of her perfume.

 

“Stark?”

 

He ignores Happy in favor of kissing Pepper. She seems like she’s ignoring him, too, judging by the way she lightly scratches Tony’s back.

 

“Stark!”

 

He deepens the kiss, twisting his hand in her hair. God, she’s amazing.

 

“Captain Stark!” Happy grips his shoulder and pulls him away from Pepper. Tony keeps his arm around Pepper.

 

Tony delicately takes the book from Happy’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

 

When he leaves them behind, he glances over his shoulder and laughs to himself at the dreamy look on Pepper’s face.

 

Tony: 1, Happy: 0.

 

\---

 

He’s sitting comfortably in Peter’s quarters, happily rereading  _ Tom Sawyer _ (though, if he reads it  _ one _ more time, he’s 98% sure he’s going to blow his lid) while Peter reads  _ Moby Dick. _

 

Peter suddenly sits up, the spine of his book hitting against the metal rod of his cot.

 

Tony looks up. “What is it, Peter?”

 

Peter’s eyes dart back and forth, and he jumps up, hurrying for the PA system. “Choppers!”

 

“Oh, goodie,” Tony says, tossing Peter’s book on the desk.

 

**“Attention, attention, all personnel: ambulances and choppers coming into the compound. It’s a big one, folks!”**

 

Outside, the orderlies have begun to unload the ambulances and the doctors rush forward to evaluate the patients.

 

Peter didn’t lie – it’s going to be a long session.

 

\---

 

When he opens the doors and walks out of the OR, it’s daylight again. Tony reaches up and pulls off his surgical cap. “Fourteen hours in surgery.”

 

Clint yawns and rests his weight against Tony. “When are they gonna have respect for the dead? I gotta sleep, you know.”

 

Tony laughs tiredly. Even Happy seemed too tired (at least during surgery) to complain about Tony’s little stunt earlier, but right now, he’d bet that Happy is filing an official report against him.

 

A sergeant, leading a young Korean girl, stops in front of Tony and salutes him. “Sir.”

 

Tony half-heartedly returns the salute. He doesn’t usually feel negatively about another person, but judging by the duffel bags the sixteen-year-old girl is trying to juggle, his gut feeling is right. Clint shakes his head, and Tony understands that they’re on the same page.

 

“I’m looking for Colonel Quill. Where might I find him?”

 

Tony shrugs. “Um, you go in there –” he points to Peter’s quarters, “and take a left, and there you’ll find a dirty, broken old man. Just follow him.”

 

The sergeant squints at him. “And he’ll lead me to Colonel Quill?”

 

Clint laughs and rests his arm on Tony’s shoulder. “No, that  _ is _ Colonel Quill.”

 

The sergeant nods. “Ah.” He turns to the girl behind him. “Young Hi, um…” He licks his lips. “Organize a shower, unpack my clean fatigues, shine my other boots –” He snaps his fingers. “Ah! Get my rations from the mess tent, unpack my other fatigues, and keep my cigarettes under lock and key.”

 

Clint and Tony stare at him in disgust. “And what’s she gonna do with her free time?” Clint asks.

 

The sergeant smiles, and it causes Tony’s stomach to twist. “The gooks – they don’t mind working.”

 

Tony’s eyes flash with red, and he gestures for the sergeant to step forward. Once the sergeant is closer to him, he turns his back to Young Hi and Clint. “Sergeant,” he says, “I don’t care for that word.”

 

The sergeant furrows his brow. “What, gooks? Nothing personal, sir.”

 

“Then knock it off!”

 

The sergeant seems surprised and takes a step back. “Yes, sir.” He salutes and gestures for Young Hi to follow him.

 

Tony twists his surgical cap in his hands and throws it onto the ground with all his strength. “Can you  _ believe _ that guy?”

 

Clint bites his top lip. “I’ll go get Radar. He knows this country better than any of us do. I’ll meet you back in the Swamp.”

 

Tony nods. God, he hates this place.

 

\---

 

“I’m sorry, she’s a  _ what _ now?”

 

Peter passes the martini glass to Tony. “She’s his moose. It’s the Japanese word for ‘girl.’”

 

“Alright, that explains what she’s called, that doesn’t explain what she  _ is, _ Radar.” Clint lies on his own cot, swirls his gin, and tries not to send his fist into Sergeant Trevor Slattery’s face.

 

Peter sits on the open edge of Tony’s cot. “She’s his– she’s kind of like his –” he pushes a hand through his hair.

 

“She’s kind of like his  _ what, _ Peter?” Clint sits up now, narrowing his eyes at Peter.

 

He shrugs and looks down, scuffing his shoes against the dirt. “Like his…his servant, in a way.”

 

Tony sets down his martini glass a little too forcefully. “You mean his  _ servant, _ like a butler or something, or his  _ slave?” _

 

Peter rubs his nose. “More like his slave, to be honest.”

 

Tony growls and grabs one of his socks and throws it across the tent. He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, so she’s his moose.” He chews on his bottom lip. “What’s the Japanese word for ‘living together?’”

 

Peter twiddles his thumbs. “Well, that might not be the case here. She might be just his servant.”

 

Clint sips from his martini glass. “Yeah? With or without French benefits?”

 

Peter shakes his head. “He bought her for $500. I talked to him a little earlier.”

 

Tony’s eyes flash with red again, and he stands up. “He  _ bought _ her? Is that what you said, or do we have a bad connection?”

 

Peter’s eyes follow Tony as he paces. “Some of the locals sell their kids for the money. They don’t have any other means, Captain.”

 

Tony shoves his hands into his robe pockets. “But- do they know they’re selling a  _ human being? _ I thought we fought this war already!”

 

Peter nods.  _ “We _ did, sir, but the locals haven’t. It’s not right, but that’s what they do.”

 

Clint tips his head back and swallows the rest of his gin. “This is a human  _ life _ we’re talking about, Radar! They’re just– they’re selling her like she’s worth no more than a dog!”

 

Tony grabs his pillow and throws it on the ground. “Why doesn’t the damn Army  _ do _ something about it?”

 

Peter nods. “The Army  _ will _ bust a guy if they find out he has one, but they won’t go looking for him.”

 

Tony finally sits back down. “Oh, how convenient.” He jiggles his leg up and down. “Can’t we just order him to get rid of her?”

 

Peter shrugs. “I mean, you  _ can, _ but he can always pick her back up as soon as he’s a mile out of camp.”

 

Tony huffs out a bitter laugh. “Would you look at that? My instant dislike for him has turned into passionate  _ hatred.” _

 

Clint taps his leg. “Can’t we do anything about it, Radar?”

 

“I –”

 

Tony stands up again and steps over his pillow. “I’m going to do something about it. I’m going to go talk to Quill.”

 

Clint leans forward. “Wait, Quill? You mean  _ our _ Quill?”

 

Tony nods.

 

“I thought you said you were gonna do something about it!”

 

Tony rolls his eyes and leaves the Swamp, hurrying towards Quill’s tent. He doesn’t bother to knock – he just pulls open the door.

 

Quill sighs heavily, not bothering to turn around or stop drying his laundry. “You know, one day, I wish you and Clint would just  _ knock.” _

 

Tony ducks under the clothesline and situates himself on Quill’s bed. “We have a situation here, Peter.”

 

“Don’t we always?”

 

“That sergeant that just came in today – Sergeant…” he snaps, trying to recall a name he never took the time to learn.

 

Quill rolls his eyes and hangs his underwear haphazardly on the clothesline. “His name is Sergeant Trevor Slattery.”

 

“Whatever his face is. He has a moose.”

 

Quill meets Tony’s eyes. “I know, but I can’t do anything about it.”

 

Tony shoots to his feet. “You can’t  _ do _ anything about it? Are you fucking serious?” He ducks back under the clothesline. “It’s– it’s illegal! And it’s wrong!”

 

Quill throws up his hands. “Of  _ course _ it’s illegal and immoral! I can order him to get rid of his moose, only for him to pick her up again immediately after leaving camp.”

 

Tony shakes his head. “Radar said the same thing.” He snaps his fingers again and points to Quill. “Can’t you just tell Slattery’s CO? His CO can order him to get rid of his moose.”

 

Quill smiles bitterly and turns to Tony. “Yeah, there’s just one little problem with that plan.”

 

Tony furrows his brow. “Oh, yeah?”

 

“His CO has a moose of his own.”

 

Tony growls, grabs one of Quill’s shirts, and throws it on his bed. “Well, then, I quit this outfit!” He bangs open the door. “I quit this war!”

 

He hears Quill rush after him. “Oh, yeah? Who’s gonna break the news to Truman and MacArthur?”

 

\---

 

Tony storms back into the Swamp. “Pete, go get Sgt. Slattery. I’m going to give him the biggest lecture of his life.”

 

Peter says, “Yes, sir,” and dashes out of the tent as Tony undresses. Clint seems to understand where he’s coming from and finds Tony’s formal uniform. Tony takes the shirt and slacks from Clint, dressing silently.

 

“I can tell you’re pissed.”

 

“Why?” Tony asks, tightening the knot of his tie a little too tightly. “Is there smoke coming out of my ears?”

 

“And your nose.” Clint carefully sits down. “You know, we might not be able to convince him out of this.”

 

Tony buttons his jacket. “Hand me my hat, will ya?” He pulls at the bottom of the jacket, straightening any creases. “I don’t give a flying shit if we can’t convince him out of this – regardless of where we are, enslaving people is fucking wrong.”

 

Clint holds up both hands in surrender and passes Tony his hat. “Look, I’m on your side. But what’s your plan if it all goes south?”

 

Peter shyly knocks on the door to the Swamp, and Tony waves him in, along with Sgt. Slattery. Tony – for the first time in his military career – snaps to attention and waits for Slattery to pay him the respect he’s due. Once Slattery salutes, Tony points him to the area around Happy’s cot.

 

He starts in with his lecture – the general basis of  **this is** **_wrong,_ ** **why the fuck are you doing it,** **_Sergeant,_ ** **are you** **_listening_ ** **to me?**

 

Slattery nods.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Are you  _ listening _ to me, Sergeant?”

 

Slattery rolls his eyes and smirks at Tony. “Yes, sir.”

 

Tony nods once. “Good. Now, I want you to release your moose.”

 

“Excuse me,  _ what?” _

 

Tony’s eyes flash, and he steps closer. “I am  _ ordering _ you, Sergeant, to release your moose.”

 

“I don’t –”

 

Tony smiles, and Peter shuffles further away from him. Tony’s smile looks more like a snarl. “Sergeant,” he says, punctuating his words, “release your moose. I don’t want to hear about you having her around again.”

 

Slattery doesn’t respond.

 

Tony looks at him and waves his hand. “Dismissed.”

 

Slattery’s lip curls. “With respect, Captain, I ain’t doing that. I paid good money for her, and I’ve been in the Army long enough to tell an officer who takes his job seriously and one who only does when it suits his moral compass. I ain’t getting rid of that moose.”

 

One of these days, Tony’s going to demand an Oscar for his ability to resist snapping Slattery’s head off.

 

Peter scratches the back of his neck. “Say, uh, sergeant…what– what would we do if we happened to want a moose? How would we go about it?”

 

Tony turns around, enraged that Peter would even think of such a thing, but the moment he makes eye contact with the boy, he can tell that Peter’s playing Slattery. Tony turns back to Slattery. “Yeah, yeah, how  _ would _ we get a moose like Young-Hi?”

 

“What– you just got done lecturing me about how it was wrong!”

 

Clint steps forward this time, wrapping his arm around Slattery’s shoulder. “You gotta swing with the times, Sergeant.”

 

“Better yet,” Tony motions for Peter to fill up a martini glass, “how would we go about getting Young-Hi? You paid $500 for her, right? What if we gave you six?”

 

Slattery pulls away from them both. “Are you insane? I taught her everything she knows! I could get  _ twice _ that down in Seoul.” He smiles at them all, his lip curling to reveal his teeth. “Nah, I ain’t selling her. Good day to you, sirs. Corporal.”

 

Tony unbuttons his jacket and throws it to the ground. “Can you _ believe _ that guy?”

 

Clint takes the martini glass from Peter’s hand and gulps it down. “I can’t.”

 

“You think it’ll look too suspicious if he suddenly gets run over by a Jeep in the shower?”

 

Clint grins and passes the glass back to Peter. “I could always say I took a wrong turn.”

 

Tony rubs his face with both hands. “Pete?”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“Go ask Major Potts for her binoculars.”

 

\---

 

They’re six games into poker, and Tony is  _ this _ close to sending Clint to check on Peter. Across the table from Tony, Slattery shuffles through his cards.

 

In Tony’s left ear, Peter tells him the cards Slattery has. “Um, he’s working on a baby straight of diamonds, and he has…oh!”

 

Tony tries not to jump at the sound of shouting in his ear.

 

“Sorry, I got blocked. Um, his other card is…a six of clubs! No flush! You hear that? No flush!”

 

Tony bites his lip. He’s going to have to educate the poor kid on how to cheat in poker, and most of it involves  _ not _ shouting into the microphone.

 

“Well, doc?”

 

Tony glares at him. “I, uh, I see your 20 and raise you another 20.”

 

Slattery squints at him. “You’re bluffing.”

 

“You willing to risk that?”

 

Slattery smiles. “I see your 40 and raise you 50.”

 

Tony taps the card table. “I see your 50 and raise you another 50.”

 

Slattery taps the top of his cards. “I call.” He places his cards on the table, in ascending order of number. “Baby straight.”

 

Tony grins. “No good.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Tony places his cards on the table. “Teensy-weensy flush.”

 

Slattery sits back. “Okay, okay, you cleaned me out. I need to get back to my tent before you try and rope me into another card game.”

 

Tony picks up a small piece of paper. “What about this IOU?”

 

Slattery takes a cigarette out of his front pocket. “Yeah, I know. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

 

Tony huffs out a laugh. “See, the agreement before we started was that this would be a  _ cash _ game.”

 

“You accepted the IOU, didn’t ya?” He turns to Clint and motions for a lighter. Clint shakes his head.

 

“Yeah, that’s because I thought you were a decent guy.” Tony slides it across the table. “Pay up!”

 

“Captain, I don’t have the money!”

 

Tony leans back in his seat and drums his fingers against his thigh. “You wanna get rid of this IOU and get $1000 of your money back?”

 

Slattery nods.

 

“Give me Young-Hi.” He ignores the way his mouth suddenly tastes like bile, ignores the way his mind is screaming at him that he just bought a  _ person, _ ignores it all because he’s trying to negotiate a deal.

 

Slattery purses his lips and nods. “Okay. I’ll go get her, explain everything to her.” He stands, finally tucking his unused cigarette back into his front pocket. “You know, Captain, you drive a hard bargain.”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah.”

 

\---

 

Slattery comes by a few minutes later with Young-Hi. “Okay, Captain, fair is fair. She’s yours now.”

 

Tony runs his tongue over his top teeth.  _ I didn’t  _ buy  _ her, you motherfucker. _

 

Slattery squeezes Young-Hi’s shoulder. “I explained everything to her.”

 

Tony nods. “That’s good.”

 

Slattery smiles at him and brushes Young-Hi’s cheek with his hand. “I’m going to miss y–”

 

“Hey, Sergeant?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Shove off!” If Tony watches this creep for another second, he’s bound to send his fist flying through Slattery’s face.

 

Slattery runs his tongue over his bottom teeth. “Yes, sir.”

 

Once he’s out of earshot, Tony addresses Young-Hi. “You understand now? You’re free to go.”

 

She tilts her head quizzically. “What you mean, Tony slob-san? I work for you – clean clothes, give shave. I also speak English very goodly!”

 

Tony can’t help the smile that crosses his face, and – not for the first time since entering the war – he feels paternal towards a young kid. “No, that’s– I’m sure you do good work, but you’re free to go now. No more moose, no more –” he waves his hand in the air, searching for the word. “No more captain-san or slob-san or whatever-san. You can go back to your family!”

 

Young-Hi steps backwards. “No, Tony-san. I work for you now.”

 

“No, Young-Hi…”

 

She grips his forearm. “I go get stuff. I start with laundry.” She runs off.

 

“No, Young-Hi!”

 

She stops and turns, and she’s smiling so brilliantly. “You see! You’ll be happy like hell!”

 

Tony laughs. “I’ll go get Peter in the meantime.”

 

\---

 

He feels bad telling her no, but at the same time, he hates allowing her to fulfill  _ his _ chores. She’s such a young kid, younger even than Peter, and she’s always so excited to do it that he just…he basically  _ can’t _ turn her down. However, this leads to him being mocked as members in the camp pass him by and see that Young-Hi is cutting his hair, or giving him a shave, or washing his laundry.

 

Exhibit A: right now, Young-Hi is shaving Tony’s scruff as Clint walks into the Swamp. “Hey, look,” Clint says, bitterness dripping off his tongue, “it’s Tony Stark – proud moose owner.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Shove off, Clint.”

 

Clint holds up a hand to his chest in mock offense. “As the dear owner wishes: I do not wish to upset him.”

 

“Shove off,” Tony repeats.

 

Clint laughs and opens the door. There’s a yelp of surprise, and then Clint yells, “Hey, Tony get your butt in here!”

 

Tony sighs heavily and raises his hand to stop Young-Hi. “I think that’s fine, Young-Hi, thank you.” He wipes the shaving cream from his face with his towel, knowing full well he’ll just shave himself tonight, and steps into the Swamp. “Yes?”

 

Clint gestures around the Swamp, floudering for words like a fish. “Tony, somebody sneaked in here and committed a neatness!”

 

Tony nods solemnly. “Young-Hi.”

 

Clint turns on Tony and sticks an accusatory finger in his face. “How  _ dare _ you–”

 

“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do!” Tony pushes a hand through his hair and curses its shortness. “There’s a truck coming in tomorrow that’s heading to Seoul. She’s getting on that truck, and then she’s home free.”

 

Clint purses his lips and nods, his eyes surveying the clean (or– relatively clean) floor. “And when she leaves, we dirty it up again!”

 

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

\---

 

She doesn’t want to leave him.

 

He’s not sure exactly why, but she clings to his arm and begs him to let her stay. He tells her no, she’s free to be her own person, but she doesn’t seem to understand.

 

He pulls his arm from her grasp and waves the truck goodbye.

 

\---

 

He’s on a date with Nurse Christine Palmer. She’s pretty and a wonderful kisser. He’s just about to take off his pants when Clint drives up in a Jeep and honks his horn. “Tony, put your pants back on. We’ve got some trouble.”

 

Tony apologizes to Christine and pulls his coat back on. As he climbs into the Jeep, he asks, “What kinda trouble?”

 

“You’ll see,” Clint says, and Tony’s severely concerned until Clint guides him back into the Swamp and Young-Hi stands at his bedside.

 

“Oh, Tony Captain-san.” She makes to bow, but Tony waves her off.

 

Clint steps forward and whispers directly into Tony’s ear, “The truck stopped for gas and she got off and hitched a ride back here.”

 

Tony runs his tongue over his top teeth. “What are we gonna do?”

 

“I was just about to ask you that.” Clint nods to her, and she’s slowly tidying up little areas around the tent. “After all, she’s part moose, part yo-yo, I don’t know what to do.”

 

Tony looks over to Young-Hi and tries not to smile. “Listen, Young-Hi, Clint and I are going to talk something over. Just…stand there. Don’t clean anything.”

 

She nods, and he knows she still will.

 

They walk over to stand by Happy’s bed. He’s currently fraternizing with Pepper (how the poor woman manages to keep up with his needs, Tony will never understand). “I think the problem is she’s too used to this life.”

 

Clint shrugs. “While I disagree, they feel deeply about honoring their family, and to do anything else is to dishonor them.”

 

Tony rubs his chin. “We need to de-moosify her.”

 

Clint grins. “You mean giver her person lessons?”

 

Tony purses his lips and nods. “Yep. You know, give her another choice other than to just work for someone who wants to sleep with her later.”

 

\---

 

Tony hates asking Christine for a favor, especially after their date gone wrong, but she’s more than happy to loan Young-Hi a pair of her fatigues. As Christine passes the clothes to Tony, she says, “If you want, I could help train her in some minor nursing duties. Nothing like surgery, but post-op duties.”

 

Tony smiles. “Christine, you’re brilliant.”

 

Somehow, Tony manages to convince Pepper to let Young-Hi stay with her until Radar can track down Young-Hi’s family. She agrees to Christine’s idea of letting Young-Hi take on some nursing tasks.

 

Young-Hi’s a natural, according to Christine. She cleans the bedpans, changes the linens, and she’s kind to the soldiers that come through. Most of them love her. Some are hostile.

 

Tony walks out of post-op with Young-Hi on his heels. “Okay, let’s go over it again. Hello, I’m Tony Stark.”

 

She looks up at him, a smile spreading across her face. “Pleased to meet you, Tony Stark. My name is Young-Hi.”

 

“Good, good!”

 

As they head for the mess tent, Peter passes by them. “Good morning.”

 

Young-Hi loses focus. “Hello, Joe! How you go?”

 

Tony growls. “Would you get lost?” he shouts at Peter.

 

Peter seems a bit taken aback. “Gee, a person says ‘good morning’ and gets his ear bitten off.”

 

Tony can’t help but smile.

 

\---

 

Peter bursts into the mess tent a few days later. Young-Hi is sitting with the nurses, but Peter zeroes in on Clint and Tony. “Sirs,” he says.

 

Tony squints in disgust at the piece of bread in his hand and bangs it against his tray. It’s as hard as a rock. “What do you want, kid?”

 

“I found the head of Young-Hi’s family. He’s waiting in the Swamp.”

 

Clint and Tony share a look and get up, following Peter back to their tent. Inside, a twelve-year-old boy sits in the chair next to Tony’s bed with an unlit cigarette in between his lips.

 

“This is the head of the family?” Clint asks Peter.

 

Peter shrugs. “Her father died a few weeks ago. The oldest male takes over from there, and Ben-Hi is it.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Great. You any good at babysitting, Clint?”

 

Clint glares at him. “Just go!”

 

“Alright, alright.” Tony opens the door to the Swamp and stands next to the metal frame of his bed. “So, uh…you’re Young-Hi’s brother?”

 

Ben-Hi nods. “I heard you want to drop her. What’s the poop, Sam?”

 

Both Clint and Tony turn to look at Peter. “Most of the locals learn their English through American videos. They’re all propaganda,” Peter explains.

 

“Oh,” Tony says silently. He steps forward and sits in the bed next to Ben-Hi. “Listen, uh, Ben-Hi, your sister is a great kid. We like her.”

 

“Then why you dropping her, Joe?” the kid says around the cigarette in his mouth.

 

Tony reaches over, pinches it between his fingers, and tosses it over to the small furnace in the middle of the tent. “I’ll give this back when you’re fifty.” He sighs and presses his hands on his knees. “We just– buying and selling people is  _ wrong, _ Ben-Hi. Your sister is her own person, and should be treated as such.”

 

Clint turns to Peter. “Go get Young-Hi,” he whispers.

 

Ben-Hi squints at Tony, as if he doesn’t understand the concept.

 

“Listen, Ben-Hi, we don’t  _ want _ a moose.”

 

“Well, you bought her.”

 

“Yes, but we want to let her be back with you guys again!”

 

Young-Hi bursts through the door. “Ben-Hi,” she gasps.

 

“What’s the deal, toots? Why they dropping you?”

 

Young-Hi presses her lips together and looks at the ground. “They treat me very good, Ben-Hi.”

 

Ben-Hi chews on his bottom lip. “I guess that’s fair. C’mon, toots, we’re going to go down to Seoul. We can get a thousand bucks for you, easy.”

 

“Wait!” Tony yelps, standing up so quickly his knees buckle.

 

“You’re just gonna let him take you, Young-Hi?” Clint asks.

 

Again, Young-Hi looks at the ground. “I have a duty to my family. To do no work means dishonor on them.”

 

“Yeah, but what about your duty to yourself?” Clint fiddles with his watch. “Listen, Young-Hi –”

 

Ben-Hi holds up a hand. “It’s too late, Joe. Come on, Young-Hi. Let’s go.”

 

Young-Hi takes Tony’s hand. “I want to thank you,” she says, “for all that you did for me.”

 

“Anytime, Young-Hi,” he says.

 

The two siblings leave the tent and Tony tosses a particularly large piece of dirt onto the ground.

 

“You know,” Clint says, rubbing his chin, “we came close.”

 

Tony tries to smile. “Yeah.”

 

Clint sighs, realizing that nothing is going to cheer Tony up. “You want a martini?”

 

“Might as well.”

 

“I know how to make a martini!” Young-Hi shouts, banging through the door.

 

“Young-Hi!”

 

“You didn’t go!”

 

Young-Hi nods, obviously satisfied with herself. “I learned a very important lesson from you both.”

 

Tony furrows his brow and looks to Clint. “Wha–”

 

She grins and nods once. “Who to tell ‘shove off!’”

 

Clint and Tony burst into laughter.

 

\---

 

A short time later, they find a means of getting Young-Hi to a convent for young girls. She writes to them, telling them about the nuns and how one said that one day, she would make a good nurse.

 

Tony smiles, following Clint to the shower. He has a date in a couple of minutes, but as soon as the letter came in, he went searching for his best friend.

 

Clint smiles. “How ‘bout that?”

 

Tony nods and smiles. “You know, I miss her.”

 

“Yeah,” Clint agrees.

 

“I could use a shave.”

 

Clint turns to him and smacks him as hard as he can with his towel.

 

“What, no, sorry, I’m sorry, please, Clint, no –”

 

Clint drags him into the showers. “Your mistake, pal.” He pulls Tony into one of the stalls and pushes him under the stream of water. “Karma.”

 

Tony nods, the water effectively soaking through his clothes. “I deserved that.”

 

\---

 

_ Dear Jarvis, _

 

_ I guess it’s been a while. I try and write as much as possible, but we really don’t have a lot of free time down here. Don’t let any of my stories fool you – we’re stuck in 13+ hour shifts with the wounded. I don’t know how bad it’ll get, Jarvis. I don’t know how bloody this war is going to get, and to be quite honest, I’m scared. For myself, mostly. But I’m also scared for the crew here at the 4077th. _

 

_ I haven’t told you about any of them. It might be a good idea to start at the top of the chain – Colonel Peter Quill. He’s a good man, smart as a whip, but he’s not quite equipped to lead. He might do very well back in the States as a professor or something, but in terms of a commanding officer? He just doesn’t fit the bill. Mind you, I’m glad the Army thinks he does, because otherwise Major Hogan would be our commanding officer and I just couldn’t handle that. _

 

_ Quill is a good doctor. Again, he’s brilliant, but that shines most in OR. I don’t know how to describe him – he’s a bit stocky with sandy brown hair. Apparently, he has a wife back home – her name is Gamora. I’ve only seen a picture, but she’s absolutely beautiful. He’s a lucky man. Grew up in Missouri, has a practice (or  _ had _ a practice, more like it) there, and two kids. His wife’s pregnant with a third. I just hope this damned war ends before the baby’s born. No father should be away from their child’s birth. _

 

_ Next, we have Major Happy Hogan. His real name is Harold, but he’s so annoying that we all just call him Happy. He’s the absolute worst, Jarvis. The. Worst. He’s a stickler for the rules and all of the Bible, but he’s always willing to break the Ten Commandments, so…I don’t know. If it weren’t for our chaplain, Father Rogers, I probably would have a really negative views of Christians. _

 

_ Happy is a pretty burly guy. He has brown hair, but guess what? He’s  _ married. _ And not only is he married, but he has three kids. That’s not even the best part, J. He has a thing with the other major in the outfit, Major Potts. They’re…fraternizing, should we say. Happy has yelled at most of our personnel. He’s a jerk with a capital J. The worst part is that he shares a tent with Clint and me. It’s utterly ridiculous. He’s not even a good  _ surgeon _ , Jarvis. Clint and I have had to correct his mistakes several times. _

 

_ Major Pepper Potts is like a lesser version of Happy. She’s also a huge stickler for rules, but she’s nicer than Happy is. I don’t hate her with every fiber of my being. Besides that, she’s a fantastic nurse – I wouldn’t put it past her to be a good doctor. She’s a military brat, though – Army, Army, Army. Her dad retired as a colonel, I think. _

 

_ Pepper is really pretty, if I’m being honest. Long strawberry blonde hair, nice legs, beautiful smile. She’s ridiculously independent and she’s fierce, but when it all comes down to it, she’s caring. I don’t see it in her much except in post-op, but she really does care about her patients. _

 

_ As you already know me, I’ll tell you about Clint Barton next. He’s from a small town in Iowa. As far as I’m aware, he got out of residency and then was almost immediately drafted. Talk about bad luck. He’s taller than me (though it’s one inch, but he still rubs it in my face) and he has dark brown hair. Clint’s married with two kids, but he’s not above fraternizing with the nurses. One of our nurses, Nurse Romanoff, is dating him. He says his wife gave him permission. I’m not sure. Regardless, it’s not my place to judge. _

 

_ We have a chaplain here, Father Rogers. He’s a scrawny fellow, even shorter than Corporal Parker. He has blond hair that looks like hay, but he’s a good man and a good Christian. I feel bad for him sometimes, because only a handful go to his Sunday services. I hope he gets better luck. _

 

_ Corporal Sam Wilson is a true treasure, J. He comes from Toledo, and I honestly think they had to drag him kicking and screaming here. He wants out – probably no more than the rest of us, but he’s the only one willing to do anything about it. He dresses in women’s clothes in an attempt at a section 8 – trying to prove to Quill that he’s crazy. None of us buy it, but at least we get some fashion down here. _

 

_ Finally, Corporal Peter Parker. He must have some superpower that allows him to sense certain things – ESP, in a way. Most of the camp has taken to calling him “Radar” since he can hear the choppers before they come and can sometimes even tell how many wounded are on the chopper. He’s a good kid, Jarvis. Volunteered for this whole mess. But honestly, I wish he hadn’t. He’s 18, but he looks 12 and he’s so innocent…I feel like I can’t protect him here, J. I want to, and I feel a certain responsibility for him. I don’t know why. _

 

_ Anyways, that’s everyone, Jarvis. Say hello to Lady Liberty for me, alright? It’s been a while since I last saw her. And give Mom and Aunt Peggy a kiss for me. I’m coming home soon, I promise. _

 

_ Love and miss you all, _

_ Tony _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it, love it, hate it? Please leave a comment down below telling me what you thought or go to my tumblr @ my-glasses-are-dirty
> 
> Next update should come in late July.


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